Love, House
by Known Unknowns
Summary: Letters from House to Cuddy, written while he was in prison. Currently up for adoption. PM me if you're interested.
1. Week One

**Love, House**

**A House MD Fanfiction**

**Week 1**

**Author's Note: This is AU, saying that right now. I got the inspiration for this from The Notebook. I hope you like it! Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.  
**

* * *

**Day 1:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I fucked up. Figured I might as well just start with that blatantly obvious statement of fact. But this wasn't just a regular House fuck up- this was about ten thousand times worse than anything I've ever done before. I lost it. I could've hurt you._

_I don't deny that I deserve to be here. I do, absolutely. Maybe jail will do some good for me. Mayfield was kind of like jail. Only here there's no cushy chairs for you to lounge in and cry. Oh well. _

_Cuddy... I don't even know what to say to you. I hope my ten months here will help me figure out what the hell I want to say. I'm sorry doesn't cut it. Two words doesn't absolve me of what I've done. There's no justice in that. I will, somehow, figure out a way to fix what I've done. You think I'm insane. You hate me. You think I was the biggest mistake you ever made and jail is the best place for me._

_I am insane. I deserve to be hated. I am the biggest mistake you've ever made and jail is where I belong. Wait, there's a but._

_BUT- you told me almost a year ago that you loved me. That you couldn't help but love me. That's the only thing that will keep me going. The fact that in some deep, dark recess of your heart, mind, vagina- whatever the hell dictates your actions, you love me._

_And that's why I'm going to write to you every day I'm trapped in this hole. I don't expect a response, I don't need one. I need do to this. I have to convince you not to give up on me, even though you probably already have. I love you. I need you._

_That's all for now. I'll talk to you tomorrow._

_Love, House_

**Day 2:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I don't know if you've gotten my first letter yet. If you have, you have probably already fallen under the assumption that I'm an obsessive stalker. Obsessed, well, you know me well enough to know that there's not many things I don't obsess over. Stalker? Hard to do that from a cell. So, although this probably won't change your assumption, I can promise you that you won't find me hiding in your bushes with a knife and a length of rope._

_Prison's awesome, thanks for asking. Real nice drapes._

_It's rough here. There's a few Latino and Black gangs that run the place, and then the Neo Nazis. None of them are very friendly looking. I've decided I'm going to use my vicodin allowance here to keep them off of me. Better than getting shanked in my sleep. This also means I'm going off the pills. Before your narcissism kicks in, yes, I am doing it for you. The pills ruin everything. The pills make me capable of doing things... terrible things. It scares me. It scares the hell out of me._

_I'm not blaming the pills for you breaking up with me. I'm blaming myself. I know, very scary- me, taking blame AND apologizing. No, I didn't hit my head. Of course, you probably think this is all a lie to get you back. It's not. I know I don't have a hope or prayer of ever getting you back after this. But I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try. So, here's me. Trying._

_I'll probably be in withdrawal by this time tomorrow. I'm scared, Cuddy. Last time it destroyed me, when I was in Mayfield. I went out of my mind with the pain. I was begging for help, and luckily I had it. I won't have that here. But... I have to do it. I'll always be an addict. But I'll fight it every step of the way. I stayed clean for nearly two years, before... well, no need to drudge up the past, right? Oh, right, sorry again for driving my car into your house._

_I can't think of anything else to write, and if I don't hurry I'll miss dinner. Thanks for reading... if you're reading. It doesn't matter if you respond, just that you read. It makes it worth it._

_Love, House_

_P.S.: Just in case you're thinking of not reading my letters as revenge against me, keep in mind that I don't know if you're reading them or not, and either way I'll work under the assumption that you are. I know you Cuddy. Being in prison doesn't change that. Anyway, slop's calling my name. Bye._

**Day 3:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Withdrawal. Always fun. I'd send a post card of me strung out by the communal toilet, but I figured you'd prefer a letter. Never mind, you don't need to hear about this. I don't want your pity, nor do I deserve it. I do deserve this._

_It's hard. This is one of those moments where I wish you were here to help me. Gotta have someone to hold my hair back while I vomit. Too bad Wilson's not available. Speaking of St. James himself..._

_I don't know if you're reading this. I hope you are. And IF you are, please, please tell Wilson I'm sorry. I don't know the details, but I know at the very least I fractured his arm when I went ballistic. I hurt him. I didn't know I was able to do that by choice._

_That's what scares the hell out of me. The fact that I chose to hurt you. And Wilson. I'm a bastard. I always have been. But generally when I hurt people... especially people I actually gave a damn about, it wasn't intentional. This time it was. I knew I was going to hurt you, and him. But I did it anyway._

_I feel like I'm beating a dead horse here, but I'm sorry for what I did. I'm trying to get better. _

_I hooked up a deal with one of the gangs. They provide me with protection and leave me the hell alone, and I give their leader enough pills to keep him happy. Enough pills being the twenty I'm allotted per week._

_I hope the withdrawal will be better tomorrow. You know how bad it can be. I'm puking every five minutes. I don't think my 6' 9" roommate likes the stank. His name's Tiny. Hold for laughter._

_Well, if the withdrawal or boredom doesn't kill me, I'll write you tomorrow._

_Love, House_

**Day 4:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I've got great news. I haven't been raped in the shower yet. I'm actually a little insulted. I must be losing my acerbic charm. I am getting on in years. Men may age more gracefully, but I think the years of alcohol and vicodin abuse has gotten to my handsome mug._

_Thought I'd open with a joke. Make you hate me a little less. Remember? I'm funny! And insane and violent and unstable and rude and self destructive and inconsiderate and selfish and unpredictable and obsessive and... hmm. I'm running out of adjectives. You get the idea. I'm a shitty person. I'm working on it. I just thought I'd try and remind you that there were a few things you liked about me._

_Withdrawal's a little better. Managed to choke down some bread and water. Real prison type food, huh? The cuisine here's somewhere between school cafeteria and taco truck, not so easy on the intestines. Eh. At least all that take out food with Wilson prepared me for a greater purpose._

_I hope he's doing well. I hope you're doing well. I hope you're sticking together. You're both meddlers. Both enablers. You're a match made in nag heaven. As friends. If I find out he takes advantage of your weak emotional state, once I get out of here I'll find a nice way to get back in, and quick._

_Wow, that probably makes me sound insane and violent. Which you already think, so no harm done!_

_Don't clutch your heart and die or anything, but... I don't know. I miss Rachel. I hope she's alright. I'll admit, at first, I didn't like the little twerp. But she grew on me. A lot. I like her... even though she chewed on my cane._

_You probably hate me for even saying that. Think I'm trying to manipulate your maternal feelings into taking me back. Honestly I'd settle for you not hating me, getting my shag on isn't really on my mind. Baby steps. I just want you to know that I love you, and I'm sorry. That this isn't an act, it's real. _

_I've had my daily bit of pleading and apologizing... time to go._

_Love, House_

**Day 5:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I haven't puked all day. Pretty good progress. I'm still shaking, sweating, and bed ridden, but being able to hold in the contents of my stomach is a nice luxury. _

_I hope you're doing good, wherever you are. Maybe you're staying with Julia. Maybe you're staying with Wilson. Or Arlene. God, if you're staying with your mother, I pity you. Tell the old dear I say hi. If you hate me, I can't imagine the type of search and destroy plans your Mom's got cooking. FWI, I think water boarding is hot, not painful. Might want to take it off the itinerary. _

_In case you're wondering, yes, I'm making jokes to ease my own massive discomfort. I'm not really a love letter kind of guy. Or any letter kind of guy. Who writes letters anymore? Too bad they don't give me a computer in here. Firstly for the porn, secondly for the email._

_I miss you. And Wilson. It's hard being in here. I was alone emotionally for the most part before this, but now I'm alone period. There's a few other brains in here. Wannabe snake oil salesmen, embezzling politicians. I'll stick with them. I tend to find that's better than hanging out with the guy who murdered his girlfriend then picked his teeth with her bones. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but only a little bit. That's the scary thing._

_At least I've got a cane. Not as good as a baseball bat, but it's better than a tooth-brush turned shank. I'm honestly surprised that they let us have pencils in here. They probably won't once they figure out that getting one embedded in your eye is a rather painful experience._

_They'll be assigning me a day job within the prison tomorrow. I hope it's something decent. I hope I'm strong enough to do it by then. The withdrawal probably won't completely dissipate for another few days._

_I don't understand why I'm talking to you about this. You don't care... you shouldn't care. I hurt you, why should you give a damn about my life?_

_I guess it doesn't matter. You're probably not reading these anyway._

_Love, House_

**Day 6:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Laundry duty. An IQ of 168, and I get laundry duty. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Ten years of medical school and I'm washing the undies of guys who probably don't even have a sixth grade education._

_Well, I deserve it. Guess I should have thought of this before I went nuts and... well, you know. For someone as smart as me, I'm kind of stupid, aren't I? I personally think it's because my ego has reached such enormous levels that I think I'm literally invincible and above the rules of normal society._

_Don't you worry. This has taken me down a couple billion notches._

_It made me wonder if you're staying at PPTH. If the team's staying there. If you haven't already made a decision, well... Foreman deserves chance to run the team. He's a good doctor. Great, even. He'll break rules to get the job done, but he won't give you nearly as much trouble as I did. And by trouble I mean mind blowing sex._

_Too soon? Probably. Hopefully the endless apologies and self hatred will make up for the insensitive jokes. _

_I'll never stop apologizing, just to let you know. Ever. I love you. I'll never stop saying that either. It'll always be true, for me. Warning: about to sound like a creepy stalker again (doesn't help that I'm writing from the big house), but you'll always be the One, Cuddy. I'm too fucked up to love anyone but you, because deep down... you know you're almost as fucked up as me._

_Almost. Take it as a compliment._

_I hope you're still Dean of Medicine. That hospital needs you. I hope my stupidity didn't drive you off. That place will be burnt to ashes in a week without you lording over it with an iron ass, err, fist._

_I'm making ass jokes. I must be cheering up! The detox is nearly over, I think. I'm shaking less, only puked once today. I'm clean, Cuddy. I hope that makes some kind of difference with your view of me. Of course, you don't know that I'm actually clean. Taking the word of your convict ex-boyfriend, well, that's a little on the naive side._

_Everybody lies, right?_

_Love, House_

**Day 7:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Wow. I've been here a week already. Time definitely didn't fly. I'm miserable. I'm stuck doing menial labor and sitting in my cell staring at the wall. I feel like someone's taken a hacksaw to my leg. It sucks. This sucks._

_I want you to know that. I want you to know that I've suffered for what I've done to you. That there's justice for what I did to you. Feel free to drive your car into my house if it'll seal the revenge deal. I promise I won't get mad._

_The fact of the matter is that most of the people who are in jail belong in jail. I don't give a damn about these people's sob stories. They've fucked up their lives and landed themselves in this mess. They don't deserve pity, sympathy, or help. That's why I don't get all these self help classes in the prison. It's stupid. People don't change._

_That probably leads you to wonder why I'm bothering to change if I believe people don't change. I'm changing how I act, not changing who I am. I couldn't change who I am if I wanted to. BECAUSE __PEOPLE __DON'T __CHANGE__. But I can change how I act. How I operate in life. I can change my tendency to fuck things up. I hope._

_I love you Cuddy. I'll do anything to fix myself if it means you won't hate me. If it means someday we can be together again. I'm not holding out for anything, but a guy's got to hope, right?_

_I feel like in a really screwed up way that writing to you makes it feel like you're almost here with me. That I'm not going through all this shit alone. I know you want me to go through all this shit alone. I deserve to go through it all alone. But... I guess you're kind of like the angel on my shoulder. Weird. Wilson will be mad, that was totally his job._

_There's a lot more crap to go through. I'll stay strong. Keep reading. I'm sure there's much more delightful House related misery to hear about._

_Love, House_


	2. Week Two

**Week 2**

**Author's Note: Here's the next installment. This is starting to turn into a bit of an inner look on House's feelings that he never shared on the show.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.**

* * *

**Day 8:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Laundry duty was exciting today. A guy tried to escape by hiding in the laundry. I knew, but I sure as hell wasn't going to tell the guards. You've seen the movies. The rat always gets killed. He made a break for it, but they caught him. Sat in questioning for three hours, trying to pin me as his accomplice._

_Before you wonder, no, they don't read our mail. They search it for drugs and what have you, but they can't actually read it. It's a violation of our privacy. Interesting concept for an institution that condones public showers and urination._

_Rape update: Still haven't been anally deflowered! I'm surprised. My figure is gorgeous on this prison diet, and yet no potential suitors. I'm so disappointed. _

_I was thinking about something the other day. You know, my typical distant-look-staring-at-the-wall kind of thing. The first day we were together, you said I was the most incredible man you've ever met, or ever will meet. Yeah, a little weird that I remembered, but I'm obsessive and observant, remember?_

_I wonder what you think of me now. Do you still think I'm incredible, somewhere in that rat maze of a brain of yours? I'm going to take a leap of faith here and go with no. I'm not incredible, Cuddy. Incredible pain in the ass, maybe, but I'm not incredible. I wonder why you ever thought I was. Wait, you said that after we had sex... okay, now I'm seeing the logic in it. But the statement stands. I'm not incredible._

_I always knew you were too good for me. I'll always know that. Me, the unluckiest bastard in the world, somehow got lucky enough to get you for a brief span of time. And I fucked it up- shocker!_

_I better stop before I reach Wilson levels of touchy-feeliness. _

_Love, House_

**Day 9:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So. I've been thinking all day about what I want to write today. Most of the time it just comes to me. Right now though, I'm just kind of staring blankly at the paper. Don't think for a second I've run out of things to say, things to apologize for... God, I'll never run out of those. I guess I'm just brain dead today._

_A thought actually occurred to me. Do you know for the past couple months what I've thought about more than anything? What went wrong with us. Obviously the relapse was the final ash in our relationship urn, but we must have been weak already for one thing to break us. What made us weak? What went wrong?_

_What did I screw up?_

_Notice the use of pronoun. I don't blame you for anything. I would have given up on me, too. I just wish I knew what the hell I did wrong that made everything fall apart so quickly like it did._

_It must be hard to be in a relationship with someone who's consistently disappointed you for twenty consecutive years. That must be a record or something. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I'm sorry for not being there. I'm so, so sorry..._

_I have too many regrets to write down right now. Don't worry, I've got another nine months and three weeks to think of all the horrible things I've done, and apologize. Looking forward to it?_

_Love, House_

**Day 10:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Weird. I've only been here for ten days, but I'm having trouble remembering how things were before I got incarcerated. Time drags in here. Every day feels like a damn life time. I don't get how there are repeat offenders. I'll be a fucking angel once I get out of here._

_I was trying to remember what you wearing the last time I saw you... I couldn't remember. I don't know why that bothered me. As you know, I always paid quite a bit of attention to your wardrobe. And now I can't remember. I'm afraid if I say in here too long, I'll forget more about you. How your hair shines even in the dimmest light. The way your dimples look when you smile, how your eyes practically shine when you're happy, how they're so clear they're reflective._

_I don't want to forget that stuff. I don't want to forget anything. For every terrible, soul crushing moment we had... we had good times. Every moment with you, even the worst, was better than a great moment by myself. It's the good things about our time together that help me get through this. The possibility that maybe if I bust my ass for the rest of my life, I can get you to forgive me. To maybe, maybe love me again._

_God, I really am turning into Wilson. Prison's made me soft. How disgustingly ironic._

_Love, House_

**Day 11:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I have something I need to talk to you about... which is interesting, since the conversations we've had so far are completely one-sided and unreciprocated. It's Visitor's Day next week. Wednesday. I don't know if you're reading these letters. I don't know how you're feeling about me. If you still want to tear me a new asshole, I get it. You'll have to be in the same room with me to do it, though._

_I don't deserve it, but if you and Wilson came... it's stupid just for me to ask, but I'd hate myself if I didn't give you the option. It's hard... it's lonely... and I need help. Once more, I don't deserve help. You've both offered me help over and over again for years, and each time I pushed both of you away. Asking for it now makes me a pathetic hypocrite. I'm already an unstable sociopath, might as well add that to my list of demeaning labels._

_I love you. I want to see you. I don't get why it's so hard for me to just say it. Maybe it's because I'm pretty convinced you'll be so insulted by me even asking that and I'll lose any progress I've made with you since this whole mess started. If you're reading my letters, that is. Which I don't know if you are, since you haven't responded. I don't blame you. I need to give you a reason to respond. I haven't yet._

_I guess I'll wait and see for Wednesday. I look a little different, but you'll recognize me._

_Love, House_

**Day 12:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So I've been thinking about Wednesday. I shouldn't have asked you to come. It's only been, what, a month since I drove a car into your house? And now I'm asking you for moral support. It's lame. You're probably going through a lot right now. You need someone there to help you. You shouldn't even be asked to lend your time to the man who... hurt you. I don't really know a word to encompass everything I did, everything I've done..._

_I got to stop using the three dots. Makes everything way too melodramatic. _

_Anyway, I'm rescinding my request for Visiting Day. I don't know where the hell I was getting off asking you for that. Or Wilson. I think I need more time. Maybe some part of me is just scared to go out and see that neither of you are waiting there for me at the phone booth. Maybe I'm scared to face you. It doesn't matter. _

_You wouldn't have come anyway, and with good reason. I was selfish by asking. Another thing I've got to work on. Acting selfish. Among other things. I started working on a list, but once it got eighteen miles long, I figured I was going a little overboard._

_I've got laundry duty. I was thinking about this all night, so I wrote this first thing in the morning. I have to wake up at seven thirty now. This is torture for a night owl like me. Not among my main concerns though, all things considered. I'm waiting on pins and needles for my roommate to decide I'm breathing too loudly and knife me._

_On that happy, happy note- I've got work to do. I'll write you tomorrow. _

_Love, House_

**Day 13:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Day thirteen. Writing the letters lets me keep track of how many days I've been in here pretty well. Not as dramatic as tally marks on the wall, but it gets the job done. Day thirteen. I'm not superstitious, but I feel like something is going to go wrong today. Maybe that shower experience I've been expecting will finally come. Oh, I'm on the edge of my seat!_

_This also makes me think of Thirteen. I hope she's still at the hospital, not off on some wild sex and drug bender (working under the assumption you dissolved my department, if you didn't, I'm sure Foreman's keeping her in line). Thirteen's a good person who got a really shitty lot in life. She didn't deserve Huntington's._

_I've said it before, and I'll say it again. We don't get what we deserve. We get what we get. Which, for the most part, is true. Sometimes we're born with a plastic spoon in our mouths by no fault of our own, other times we get exactly what we deserve for our actions. Instant karma._

_I'm not a religious man, but karma... karma makes sense. What goes up must c__ome down._

_I think that's why I'm here. There's consequences for everything. Disregarding the personal consequences, I've never really suffered for all the shitty things I've done over the years. Now I finally am._

_Karma does a good job of giving the bad people bad consequences, but it does a crappy job of giving good people rewards. You aren't just a good person. You're a great person. Yet you get fucked at every corner you turn. Your mom's a bitch. Your dad's dead. You struggled for years and years to get pregnant before you finally gave in and adopted a child which you barely get to see because of your all consuming and stressful job. Oh, and you got stuck loving a misanthropic, apathetic and reckless drug addict who made your life even harder every step of the way._

_Yeah, we get what we deserve sometimes. Sometimes we don't. Reinforces my whole God complex thing, doesn't it? _

_Most guys fake Christianity to get out earlier on parole. Unfortunately, my pride prevents me from doing that. I'd rather stay in here ten more months than give up my principles to look like some God fearing moron who's trying to be reborn in the eyes of the Lord. I have my limits. Or at least I'm trying to make some._

_Au Revoir, Cuddy. There are prison jumpsuits that need washing. I love them. They bring out my eyes._

_Love, House_

**Day 14:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Two weeks in. This week went a lot faster, now that I'm clean. I used to think the vicodin just blurred things together, now I realize it actually slowed things down. Turned the world to slow motion. Maybe that's why I was a good at solving puzzles. Slow everything down, pressure comes off a little, gives you time to faint. _

_I miss the puzzles, I'll be honest. The top three worst things about being in here?_

_1. You're out there and I'm not_

_2. I'm bored out of my fucking mind_

_3. I have too much time to dwell on my own thoughts, which aren't exactly cheery._

_The proof that I have too much time on my hands? The fact that I wrote that list. The fact that I had enough time (and clarity) to compartmentalize and organize my misery is slightly frightening. _

_I get up. I do the laundry (which takes all morning), I eat lunch, twiddle my thumbs all afternoon, eat dinner, twiddle my thumbs all night, go to bed around four, wake up early, repeat. Every. Fucking. Day. I'm becoming an expert thumb twiddler. And pacer. I pace constantly now, just to give me the illusion that I'm doing something. Kicks the hell out of my leg, but I can't just sit still and do nothing._

_I'm trying to be on my best behavior. Not saying every snide comment that comes to mind when I'm talking to a guard, or an inmate. You know me, so you know what a bitch that is for me. I want to be good so I can get the hell out, or at least get a better job. I want the job in the library. I'm more at ease in a room full of books than in a room full of dirty clothes. The guy that's in there now, McKinnon, he gets released in two weeks. Maybe I'll shoot for the job then. I've just got to suck it up and be a good boy. I'll manage._

_Just so you know, and if you care, nothing bad happened yesterday. I really thought something was going to. I think being here, always having to look over my shoulder... I think it's making me paranoid._

_I hate being here, Cuddy. I miss you. I love you. I haven't said that in a couple days. Just letting you know. Again. And I'll keep saying it. Can't let my spotless reputation as an obsessed ex-boyfriend be tarnished._

_Two weeks down... only roughly thirty eight more to go. Talk to you tomorrow._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Please review! :D Also, I don't know if they read the outgoing mail in prison, but for the purposes of this fic, they don't.**


	3. Week Three

**Week 3**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all who have reviewed! Just be patient with the story and all your dreams will come true. :) Also, keep in mind that this is from House's point of view, and isn't necessarily how I interpreted the events of season seven.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!**

* * *

**Day 15:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Just another day at Princeton State Penitentiary. Not much to say about it. Well, I suppose there's plenty to say, but I don't want to write it and you don't want to hear it. Prison life isn't glorious. Maybe I should gets some tattoos, make me feel more at home. Maybe a cane on my inner thigh? Sounds like a plan._

_Things are going okay, all things considered. I mean, it sucks, but in all reality it's pretty much like Mayfield, only I (very ironically) have more freedom and no one's trying to save me. I'm sure if I get within ten feet of the prison chapel, that'll change. Jesus forgives all!_

_My roommate got moved to solitary for a month and an extension on his sentence. There was a big fight in the cafeteria. Tiny got into a bit of a tussle with one of the Neo Nazis. Judging by the bloodstains and the Swastika covered corpse, Tiny won._

_So, I've got my cell to myself for awhile, which is nice. I can get some relative peace in here, maybe. Peace in prison. I think irony is the word of the day._

_I miss you. Which you already know. _

_Love, House_

**Day 16:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Visiting Day tomorrow. Don't worry, I'm not asking you to come. Just thought I'd state that. A lot of the guys don't get visitors. They walk in, look around, and walk right back into the nearest cell block. They don't expect anyone, but most of them still go. At least that's what most of the inmates say. I'm a Visiting Day virgin._

_I have no right to ask for your presence. But you know I want you there. _

_I think I've been saying the wrong things in these letters. That I miss you, I need you, I love you, etc. There's a very important thing I haven't said, and I think it's one of the reasons that we fell apart._

_I care about you. What you think. How your life is. I care about __you__. I don't know if I ever said that when we were together. I should have. Everyday. I am the most selfish self centered son of a bitch on the planet, but I care about you. More than anyone, including myself. I've made it pretty clear I don't put all that much value in my own life._

_I should have stopped playing games. I should have told you everyday how I felt about you. I should've grown the hell up. I'm going to try now, even thought it's roughly thirty eight years too late._

_I care about you. And Rachel. I hope you're okay, wherever you are. I still hope I didn't drive you out of Princeton Plainsboro. I want you to be happy, more than anything. I don't want my mistake to hurt you, even though I know it has._

_I love you, Cuddy. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. I don't deserve to, but, a guy's got to hope. right?_

_Love, House_

**Day 17:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_You weren't there. Neither was Wilson. I'm not surprised. Or angry. I'm glad you listened to me and didn't come. It's been made pretty damn clear that I can't handle normal relationships. I'm a mess. I don't know how I would react if I saw you. It's easy to talk to you when I can't see you, when I can't hear your response. When you can't make me leave._

_That was always the worst. Not when we fought. That was bad... no, it was always the worst when you would send me away. Knowing that in that moment you were so angry at me that you couldn't even be around me, couldn't even look at me. You not wanting to be around me... that hurt more than anything._

_I guess I'm a little bit of a hypocrite, since I spent ninety percent of my time avoiding you for sixteen years. But I wasn't avoiding girlfriend-Cuddy. I was avoiding boss-Cuddy. If it makes you feel any better, I miss you both._

_I miss diagnostics. It kept me busy, interested... distracted. In here I'm left to my own devices way too much. I don't know if you noticed this yet, but I tend to over think things sometimes._

_I don't take many things seriously, but I always took my job seriously. I mean, my ACTUAL job. Not clinic duty. Crotch swabbing isn't in my job description. Well, it was, but then I crossed it out with a sharpie. So now it's not. _

_I took my job seriously, but I don't think I took our relationship seriously enough. I took you for granted. I should have valued every single moment with you like it was our last second together. I should have worked so much harder to keep us together. _

_If I ever get the chance again, I will. You'd be an idiot to give me that chance, because knowing me I'll probably screw it up. But I hope I can earn back your trust at some point. Make you hate me a little less._

_Love, House_

**Day 18:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_This is starting to become the highlight of my day. Pretty sad, isn't it? I guess it makes me feel less alone. Or it gives me something to think about, something to do. I keep hoping someone's going to have a mysterious seizure or start coughing up blood so I have something to do. _

_I wish there was a job down in the infirmary, but they don't trust the inmates to help with the patients. I chat with the doctor down there, Adams, sometimes. One of the only people here that can understand more than three words in any sentence I say. _

_The only other person I really hang out with here is Orton. He's the lawyer I told you about. Scammed his clients and committed tax fraud. He got a solid twenty five years, only eight of which he's served. He can be my BFFPS! (Best Friend For Prison Sentence, if you're wondering)._

_He's decently intelligent. Con men tend to be that way. Smart enough to take advantage of the unsuspecting, but not smart enough to avoid getting caught. It's weird having a friend who's actually a little bit like me. You and Wilson were both my polar opposites in most ways. Moral, kind, tactful, self-sacrificing... in case you haven't noticed, I'm none of those things. I wish I was. He'd never let me live it down if he knew this, but I sometimes I wish I could be like Wilson. Just be good. He's not perfect, no one is, but Wilson certainly tries. There's three options in life. Be good, get good, or give up. I took option D: Don't try._

_I never strived to be a good person. To become better than I was. My world view didn't agree with that. I am who I am. No use trying to change myself when it would be completely pointless. People don't change._

_But we can change how we act. I'm really trying, Cuddy. God, I'm trying. I'm clean. I'm trying to keep up the good behavior. I've switched from option D. I want to get good. I want to be better. I want to fix this. Us. My life. My fucking disastrous hellscape of a life. I say us before my life because 'us' is my life. You matter to me more than anything, even though I probably don't mean a thing to you anymore. I hope the weeks of letters have begun to maybe make things a little better._

_I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight._

_Love, House_

**Day 19:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_They did a cell search today. They're really thorough, I've got to tell you. Lucky I don't have any contraband in my cell. I'm smart enough not to keep it in my cell. One of the benefits of not being an idiot like most of the imbeciles trapped in this hell hole._

_Orton got a week in solitary. He had a cell phone. Incredibly not allowed. I knew beforehand that he had one. I really thought he would've done a better job of hiding it. Under his mattress... coming from a guy with a history of B&E, that is the FIRST place you look for hidden stuff._

_Ah, breaking and entering. One of my favorite past times. Not me doing it personally, but making my fellows do it at risk of being arrested and imprisoned. Shocker that they only got their asses tossed in jail once._

_I wonder how they are. Taub, Chase, Foreman, Thirteen... you know. The team. What could they possibly be doing without Papa Bear around? I hope you listened to your crazy ex-boyfriend and let Foreman run diagnostics, if you're still Dean. My bets are on yes. You're too responsible to leave. You feel like the fate of the world is on your shoulders. The fate of the hospital certainly is, I won't lie to you. That place would go to hell in a hand basket without you there._

_You see what the world is, and you see what it could be. You don't see the gaping chasm in between. You work to make the world what you know it could be. And most of the time, you succeed. It's naive, but you have a talent. You administrate. I solve puzzles. Chase has amazing hair. We all have a gift. Wilson's is moralizing, by the way._

_You're probably wondering why I'm not writing Wilson letters. Well, gee, I don't want to send any mixed signals. I only send letters to people I want to see naked. I've seen enough of a naked Wilson to melt the eyeballs of any unsuspecting witness._

_I have plenty of things to apologize to Wilson for, but anything I've done to him is nothing compared to all the shit I've put you through. Nothing. I'll apologize in full to him when I get out. You need to hear how sorry I am, everyday. Because my goal is to convince you that I'm actually telling the truth._

_I love you. Time for me to get going._

_Love, House_

**Day 20:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I'm bored out of my wits now that Orton's in the hole. After laundry duty, I basically just sat in my cell all day. I was thinking about you. Shocker. I was thinking about when you went in for your kidney surgery. How scared I was. The idea of you... dying. It's worse than anything I can imagine. I'd rather you hate me for the rest of my life and yours than for you to die._

_Even stoned, when I was watching from the observation gallery in the OR... watching them cut into you. That was the most terrifying, awful couple hours of my entire life. That tops anything. The fear of you not making it tops anything I've gone through in my entire life. Yes, that includes muscle death and being institutionalized. _

_I wish you have given me another chance. When you left my house, after you ended it, I was in the bathroom again. I had the pills in my hand. I looked to the door. I thought you were going to be there._

_You weren't there to save me that time. The day you gave up on me was the same day I gave up on me._

_This is what happens when I have time to think. I think about everything that went wrong._

_I can't write anymore today._

_Love, House_

**Day 21:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_It's been three weeks I've been here, and it also means that a month and a half as passed since I drove my car into your house. I'm not familiar with these things. I don't know how long the emotional recovery time is for that. If only I had a therapist. _

_If they had therapists here, well, I wouldn't talk to one. Therapy didn't work before. I talked to Nolan for a year straight, and nothing got better. I tried to change who I was, and I ended up making myself miserable. Reinforces what I've been saying. People don't change. That might just replaced 'everybody lies' as my catch phrase._

_Life changes. People don't. People try._

_Even when I'm not making these observations about my idiotic patients and their families, they still hold true. People say that time heals all wounds. I'm hoping that will apply to your feelings towards me, for the wounds I've inflicted. I'm not sure I agree that time heals everything. Maybe we just learn to ignore the pain. We teach ourselves to be numb._

_I've been trying to teach myself to be numb for years. The vicodin is better at it than I am. So are the booze. I don't get either in here, so I'm pretty emotionally sensitive right now. I can't believe I just said that. Hold on while I brew up some toilet wine to prevent myself from descending into a downward spiral of tears and Sex and the City reruns._

_I just wanted to thank you. For helping me get through this, whether you like it or not. Thanks for giving me someone to talk to, even if you aren't listening. Makes this bearable. Terrible but bearable. I studied under Dr. Seuss._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Review, pretty please. :)**


	4. Week Four

**Week 4**

**Thank you to IHeartHouseCuddy, JLCH, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, justlobe, Belle-Cuddy, OldSFfan, bebehuddy, Anonymous, and all the guests who have reviewed so far!**

**Author's Note: For those who are wondering, the timeline for this story is different than the one from the show.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House MD!**

* * *

**Day 22:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I've been sitting here for hours. I don't know what to say. Today was hard. They gave me the day off of laundry duty, so I had even more infuriating ass time than usual. _

_You know what that means. More introspection. These letters are turning into a blow by blow of every crappy moment and thought that's crossed my mind in the past ten years. It sucks. I guess this is the whole point of prison, isn't it? To sit and stew over what we've done. To feel remorse. To feel regret._

_Well, I felt regret about fifteen seconds after I did what I did, so that part of it is kind of lost on me. At least justice is still being served. I still think the Indians had it right with an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Seriously, I'll be disappointed if I get released and your car isn't embedded in my apartment wall._

_I guess I never really explained to you why I did what I did. I don't want you to think that I did it for revenge or something. I __didn't__. I did it because I was furious. Absolutely, red-eyed, insanely, furious. I didn't just arbitrarily drive my car into your living room. I saw you in there... with another guy. And I felt..._

_I don't know what the hell I felt. Wilson kept telling me to let it out. To get angry. Because getting angry was the only way to heal._

_This is what I get for taking Wilson's advice. If he still deems me worthy to speak to after this, I'm going to bring that up every time he tries to get me to do the 'right thing'. Actually, doing the 'right thing' might be something I should try some time, because doing the wrong thing definitely isn't a good method._

_Love, House_

**Day 23:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_My leg's been hurting worse than usual lately. Not sure why. The pain was worse than it was last time I was clean, but that may have a teensy bit to do with the fact that I tried performing surgery on my self in a bathtub shortly before I got clean._

_Not my greatest moment._

_I don't think I resented Stacy for all of these years because of the pain. I mean, I rationalized that as being the reason, but I've discovered that rationalizing is something Wilson and I are both very good at doing. I resented her because the pain changed me. It made me a miserable bastard._

_You already know that, though. The only person I ever really told that to was Hanna, but you were right next to me when I said it. Do you remember her? She was that girl who died from the fat embolism in that crane collapse._

_I would've gone back to vicodin that night if it weren't for you. You saved me that time. I don't know how many I would've taken. I might've killed myself, not intentionally, but by accident. I had lost my tolerance for them, being clean for a full year. I probably would have taken way more than I could handle. _

_That was the most alone I ever felt. Wilson and Sam were together, kicked me out, left me to my own devices. Don't get me wrong, I was ready to move out, but in that moment I knew that Wilson had made his choice. He picked Sam over me. Then, only twenty four hours later, I thought you had picked Lucas over me. I thought I was completely alone._

_When you told me you loved me that night, I really thought I was hallucinating. I didn't want to get my hopes up again only to see that I had lost my mind... again. Do you know how it feels to lose your mind? To not be able to tell the difference between what's reality and what's conjured up by your own mind? It's fucking terrifying. Even after we'd been together for months, I was afraid I would blink and I'd be back on my bathroom floor, with Amber sitting next to me._

_I don't know if Wilson ever told you, but that's who I was hallucinating for those weeks before I went to Mayfield. I don't know why it was her following me and not Kutner. Maybe it's because I feel responsible for Amber's death. I think some part of me does, even though I know it wasn't my fault. I told her I'd get home on my own. She followed me on to the bus._

_I still blame myself for it, though, no matter how illogical it is. I think Wilson blames me, too._

_Okay, this one-sided therapy session is getting out of hand. Bye for now._

_Love, House_

**Day 24:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I'm writing you this from my bed in the infirmary. I got attacked in the cafeteria today. Neo Nazis wanted revenge for Tiny killing one of them, not to mention the gang I'm paying to watch my back is pretty much their arch enemies. I didn't even see it coming. They came up behind me, kicked my legs out, took my cane, and beat me with it. The guards managed to pull the bastards off of me before they managed to kill me, luckily._

_Infirmary beds are actually pretty comfy, and it smells a hell of a lot better in here. Other than the fact that it's excruciating to move, this is an improvement. They broke my leg, and I've got a minor concussion. Other than that, just a lot of bruises. I'm starting to think of just slowly limping around the prison now. I always thought that my cane would be useful in a fight, but I stupidly never considered the idea that it could be used against me._

_I'm not trying to get you to pity me, if that's what you're thinking. I just thought this was a little more interesting to hear about than my usual self-pitying, pleading bullshit. Also, this kind of fits with the incredibly relevant theme of karma that seems to continue rearing it's head in my life._

_At least Adams is down here. If she wasn't, I'd probably go nuts from boredom. She says I need to be more social, or this kind of thing will happen again. She's worked here for three years, and the people who try to stay in the background are generally the ones who are targeted, because they don't have any strong alliances. There will be few if any consequences for attacking me. The gang I'm aligned with, there job is basically just to leave me alone and try to keep me from getting killed. Vengeance isn't in the contract._

_I'm going to have to make some kind of stronger alliance. No one is a safe choice in this place, because I don't know if you know this, but jail isn't exactly full of the most pleasant people. I don't know if the Nazis are done with me yet, and I'm not sure if I want to find out._

_If you don't hear from me, it's not because I stopped writing. It's because I'm dead._

_Well, that was overdramatic._

_Love, House_

**Day 25:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I'm not dead yet. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing from your point of view, I don't know. They kept a guard in the infirmary last night right next to my bed to make sure the guys who attacked me don't come back for seconds. They say I'll need to stay here for a week. My leg wasn't broken too badly, should be good in three weeks. Until then I'll use crutches. I guess being a cripple with a cane wasn't enough to make me look weak, now I need crutches. _

_Adams got stuck on monitoring me last night when I was writing my letter. She asked me who I was writing to. I deflected, didn't give her a direct answer. You know, usual stuff. She kept bugging me, and I was getting annoyed, so I eventually just told her about you. I figured if I was stuck with her making sure I was breathing every fifteen seconds, I might as well. And in all honesty, who's she going to tell?_

_So, I explained that I loved you for twenty years, we dated for about eleven months, then I went back on vicodin and we broke up. Then I told her about my freak out and driving my car into your house. I expected a judgmental Wilson response, but she just kind of sat and listened. When I was done, she asked me why I was writing you._

"_I mean, has she forgiven you? What has she said about it?"_

"_I don't know. She hasn't written back."_

_She thinks it's sweet. Said she didn't expect something so old fashioned and romantic from me. Yes, Cuddy, I have been described as __old fashioned __and __romantic. __Where are the other three Horsemen of the Apocalypse? I'm expecting them to come galloping through the door any moment._

_I don't think this is romantic. In fact, I think it's slightly pathetic, but it's the only thing keeping me from going over the deep end. _

_Love, House_

**Day 26:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Orton got out of solitary today. He heard about what happened and came down to the infirmary. Orton's got friends on the outside sending him money to pay each of the prominent gang leaders so they leave him the hell alone. He says he can do the same for me. I gave him my account number. _

_Yeah, I know. Giving a con man with a history of robbing his clients blind was probably a bad idea. Okay, definitely a bad idea. But if I die in here because I don't have any protection, all the money in the world won't make a shit bit of difference._

_With Orton and Adams hanging around, I'm less lonely than usual. Conversation distracts me, so it's much more welcome than it used to be._

_I had Orton sign me up to apply for the job in the library once McKinnon's released on Sunday. I'll hear back then if I got the job or not. I hope so. Library duty is longer, and I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable in the middle of a bunch of books than up to my elbows in laundry detergent and prison jumpsuits. Plus, I can basically just hang out and do whatever I want if I get the library job. This may come as a shock, but it turns out that drug dealing gang members aren't that interested in cozying up with a good book._

_Got a glimpse of my face today. I look rough. My lip's split open, eye's black, jaw's six different colors. I didn't realize they'd done so much damage to my face. Lucky thing they didn't break my jaw. Prison food's bad enough when it's not being drank through a straw. I don't what it is, but food tastes so much better when Wilson pays for it... well, his tax dollars pay for this food, but it's just not the same._

_I miss you. Both of you. _

_Love, House_

**Day 27:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Hey. Looks like I won't need to look over my shoulder quite as much anymore. Orton paid off the head of each of the gangs, even the Neo Nazis. Unsurprisingly, they wanted a higher price. Orton warned me that my savings are going to be drained down to nothing if I get released as planned. If I fuck up or do something to extend my stay in this lovely prison, I'm completely screwed. But for now, at the very least, I'm relatively safe._

_Of course, it's not like I'm in too much danger in the infirmary. They keep armed guards here at all hours, generally because the people who end up here are people who need protection. People who have enemies._

_I tried to keep my head down. I tried not to be an ass. And I still ended up in a hospital bed. No matter what I do, it always ends the same. _

_Sorry I haven't been doing too much groveling for your forgiveness lately, but I figured it would be alright to take a short break from that. If you actually are reading these, I think you've gotten the idea. If you're not reading these, well, my hand needs a break anyway._

_I think you're reading them. I don't know why, but I think you are. Or maybe I'm just an idiot and you just throw them away. Beats me._

_Well, I've got plenty of sleeping and staring at the wall to catch up on. Talk to you later. I love you._

_Love, House_

**Day 28:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I got the job. Goodbye laundry duty, hello library. It'll still be boring, and I'll still be miserable, but at least I won't be as miserable as I was before. Plus, maybe I can look for some old eighteenth century love poetry to send you, so I can get back into your good graces._

_Ha. If you were that easy to win over, I don't think I would've ever pursued you at all. You are incredibly hard to get Cuddy, because you're always telling yourself you don't want to be caught. You constantly refuse your own needs, I've noticed that. I think your own happiness may be one of the last things on your list of priorities. The only time I can remember you doing something for yourself was when you left Lucas for me. He was responsible, a good father figure for Rachel, reliable, trustworthy, stable. And you left him for me. I think all my self-hating crap's boring you, so I won't go into what a broken, fucked up son of a bitch I am._

_I've been in here for roughly a month now. Only nine more to go. Nine more to go, and maybe I'll get to see you. I remind myself of what you look like everyday so I don't forget._

_I think I'm getting into creepy stalker territory again. Anyway, I start the new job on Wednesday, same day I get released. Until then, it's infirmary life for me. Is it weird that I like the smell of it in here? It reminds me of the hospital. It's sad how much I miss PPTH. I hate getting sentimental, but that place really was my second home. The smell of antiseptic wash and stale coffee... I miss that._

_I hope everything is good for you. I hope the car shaped hole in your wall is patched up. I'm sorry... again._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Please review! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :D**


	5. Week Five

**Week 5**

**Author's Note: Thank you to IHeartHouseCuddy, OldSFfan, iamawallflower, JLCH, justlobe, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, lucy, B, lenasti16, givemekevinbacon, and all the guests who've reviewed! Behold, week five!**

**Disclaimer: I don't House MD!  
**

* * *

**Day 29:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Hi. It's your favorite convict. Well, I'm probably the only convict you know anyway, so their isn't much competition. _

_I remembered the last thing I said to you, earlier today. I don't know if you remember... the last time I saw you, before the crash, was when I shoved you against the wall in the hallway outside the cafeteria, after our 'lunch'. The last thing I said to you was "It's not your fault."_

_How eerily fitting. Sometimes I feel like our lives are one elaborate medical drama. That, by the way, would have made a great fade out._

_It really isn't your fault, you know. Well, I mean, you did break up with me, but you had a fairly good reason. I wasn't there when you needed me. I never was. I would promise you I'd change, but what purpose would that serve? I mean, seriously, how many times have I said that? Every time I say I'm going to change, I do... for a few months, a few weeks, even years sometimes. But I always go back. Every single time. I go back to the pills, go back to my self-destruction._

_I'm getting so sick of running through the list of my shortcomings, but I feel like if I overanalyze myself enough, I'll be able to pinpoint exactly what's so fucked up about me. Which one of my many charming and endearing qualities is the catalyst to every decision I make? I'm sick of other people trying to fix me. It's time for me to fix myself. It turns out I know myself better than anyone else. It's up to me to get better. I'm not going to put it on someone else this time. You, Wilson, Nolan- I kept relying on you to get me through everything. I'm weak._

_I want to be strong._

_Love, House_

**Day 30:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Last day in the infirmary. I get released tomorrow morning. It'll suck to be back in my cell, but at least there I can hop around on my crutches and get a little bit of freedom. Freedom in jail, insert humorless laugh here. Adams says if I'm ever bored to just come down, that her boss doesn't care if I'm here. Looks like I've made myself a friend._

_I really should try that more often. People are annoying, but boredom is more annoying. I hate to admit, but Foreman's got a point. It does pay to have more than one friend. Which kind of makes Foreman a hypocrite, because I'm pretty sure Taub is his only friend._

_If you're still in contact with the team, I have a request. Tell them that I know they can do it without me. Thirteen, Chase, Foreman, and Taub. There's a reason they're my team. I truly believe each of them are great doctors. Some of the best. I kind of wish I would've bothered to tell them that more often. I'm not really an encouraging kind of boss, but all things considered, I really was an ass to all of them. Masters too, but she had the sense to quit. I said they were great doctors, I didn't say they were smart._

_I wish I had some idea of what was going on there. Visiting day is every Wednesday, you know that... if you ever feel the need to come chew me out, you know where to find me. You know I want to see you. I want to see Wilson. Fuck, I'd be happy to see anyone at this point. Literally, anyone. Send your mother for all I care. I need to talk to someone from the outside. I hate being trapped in here, ignorant of what's happening in the world. In __my__ world._

_I guess it's my own fault for throwing my world to hell._

_Love, House_

**Day 31:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_No sign of anyone on visiting day. I wasn't surprised. Disappointed, yeah, but not surprised. I understand why you guys don't want to see me. _

_Cuddy, I just want to make sure you understand, when I drove my car into your house, I wasn't trying to hurt you or your family. Your house, yeah, I was kind of trying to hurt that. I wanted to hurt you emotionally, not physically. You know I could never hit you, or try and cause you bodily pain. I'd die before I would do that. One hundred percent. That's not me trying to be romantic, that's me being honest._

_I would die before I would ever do anything like that. You have to believe me. Domestic violence isn't my style, destruction of property is._

_Anyway, I just wanted you to know that. On to other things, I started in the library today once I was discharged from the infirmary. It's nice to be out, even if I am on crutches. I'll only be on them for roughly two weeks, thankfully. Some of the bruises are fading now, most of my ruggedly handsome mug is back to normal._

_Library job's pretty simple. I organize the card catalogue, sort the shelves, check out books and write reminders for fines. It's easy. Boring, but easy. Only problem is, the library job is generally considered to be a pretty cushy and comfortable gig. Other people want it. I was lucky that I got it (I personally suspect that Orton paid the library head to give me the job, but who knows?) and this is going to put an even bigger target on my back. I paid off the gangs, but money only goes so far... not to mention all the free agents who might want a piece of me._

_These letters must depress the crap out of you. I'm never really brimming with cheery news, am I? Prison can do that to you._

_Well, I've got some convicts to shush up, so I've got to run._

_Love, House_

**Day 32:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I realized something today. I never asked you if you were comfortable getting these letters. I never asked if you wanted them or not. If you were alright with me contacting you._

_I'm really wondering where your head's at. What you think when you open up these letters. You know, if you write me back, I might find out. I know, I know. Asshole who runs a car into your home and endangers your life doesn't really qualify me to petition for a pen pal. Still. It scares me to think that this whole time you might just be tossing my letters in the trash, or they bother you. Make you upset._

_These help me a lot. Along with being kind of comforting, it gives me something to think about. I think about what I'm going to write. You know what they say, and idle mind is the devil's playground, and he's been swinging on the monkey bars in my brain for far too long._

_Cuddy... I really would like you to respond. I __need__ to know whether you're getting these (and reading them). This is the only security in my life, I don't want it to be based off of a lie. I'd rather be miserable with the knowledge that you aren't reading them than be comforted by the misconception that you are._

_I know I fucked up, Cuddy. I know that it's probably best for you to just move on. But I'm not asking for a wedding ring, I'm asking for a sentence. Literally. Just a sentence. You don't have to write anything you don't want to write. You know me. I can't stand not knowing things._

_So, I'd get down on my hands and knees and beg, but you can't see me. I want to know if there's even a faint hope of reconciliation with us. Please, just let me know if you're getting these or not... and if you're alright with me writing you._

_Please._

_Love, House_

**Day 33:**

_Dear House,_

_You're an idiot._

_Sincerely, Cuddy_

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I know. But thanks for writing me back, even to insult me. I probably deserved it. Okay, I definitely deserved it. You'll need to be more specific, though. What specifically makes me an idiot? There's certainly a long list. Like I said, eighteen miles long._

_Never mind, you don't have to answer that. I'm just relieved to know you're getting these, and that you at least don't hate me as much as I thought. I think. Who knows? Anyway, thanks for responding._

_Things here are going as well as ever, I suppose. The gangs are leaving me alone. The Nazis give me dirty looks, but I prefer that to getting the living shit beaten out of me. If looks could kill I would've been killed around age four. Library job's a bit of a snore, but it's better than laundry duty and it gives me more to do. It's significantly less tedious and mind numbing._

_I hope that everything is good with you. I know I say that a lot, but you don't understand how important you and your family's happiness is to me. Your family meaning Rachel and you, obviously. I don't think your mother could be happy if she won the lottery while sitting on a pot of gold._

_Rachel's a great kid. Smart. I didn't think so at first, but she's a chip off the old block. Yes, despite the years of me calling you a second rate doctor and an idiot etcetera, etcetera, I really do think you're intelligent. Hell, your grades were better than mine in med school, so one could argue that you're smarter than me._

_Ha. You wish. Sorry, I haven't changed that much._

_Love, House_

**Day 34: **

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Do you realize what I would give to see you right now? I bet you really have no idea. It's not just the fact that I miss you (which I do) it's the absolute lack of contact with the outside world. It's like everything that happened in my life, out in the real world, it doesn't exist. The only thing exists is the crime I committed and this prison, like it's the center of the universe._

_Metaphorically for me, it is. The routine, the punishment- it's my entire life. Because even in my free time, it's still a punishment. What's the point of having free time if your still alone, in jail, and miserable?_

_God, this sounds self pitying. I can't believe how pathetic I've become. I've reached the point where'd I'd cut off one of my arms to see anyone from Princeton. That's right. I'd cut off an arm to see __Taub__. _

_The only thing keeping me going is the thought of getting out of here. This isn't the end. This isn't the rest of my life, just the next nine months or so. I don't know how the guys who are in here for life deal with it. I suppose if I was a lifer or on death row I'd put all my energy into escaping... but even if you escape prison, what kind of life can you have? You can't return to your friends and family, because that's the first place the police would go to look._

_Prison has taught me to put more value in relationships. I didn't realize how much I took you, Wilson, everyone for granted until now. When I get out, things will be different, (want to take bets on how many millions of prison letters have said that exact same line?) because if things don't change, I'll either end up back here, or dead. _

_Contrary to popular belief, I do care if I live. I don't want to die. I do insane, dangerous things, but it's not because I want to die or don't care about my own well-being (well, that's partly true) it's because I'm an addict in every way, adrenaline junkie included. If my vicodin or my puzzles couldn't get me high, I found another way. I think that's why I bought my motorcycle. I miss her too. And don't judge me for giving my possessions female pronouns. Calling your kitchen table or your couch a 'she' is weird, vehicles and guitars on the other hand... it's alright._

_Well, I've got librarian stuff to do. I need to get glasses and a much more sour expression to do this properly._

_Love, House_

**Day 35:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I'd ask for another letter, but I was lucky to get the one you sent me, so I'm not going to push my luck. Anyway, hi. Things here are shitty as usual, thank you for asking. You'd think I'd eventually adjust to the crap factor here, but I'm really not. Things are slightly better now that I have the library job, but having to hobble around on crutches like an invalid is both embarrassing and difficult. _

_You know that I hate people looking at me like I'm weak. Well, a guy in his fifties on crutches doesn't exactly inspire fear or respect. Put me on a walker and someone will ask me if I'm going to Bingo Night at the community center._

_This place has reminded me of my mortality. Although I toe the line a lot with risking my life, I'm not really sure it got through to me that my life can end randomly and in an instant until I got here. Even after I tried to perform surgery on myself in a bathtub, after I sustained brain damage and went into a coma, put myself into insulin shock, electrocuted myself, got shot... I'd list the rest, but we don't have time for that. It didn't really hit me until now, when it's possible my life could end just because I gave someone the wrong look._

_I keep my eyes lowered like a feral animal in here. Eye contact is considered a threat to animals and to men with the intelligence of animals. Welcome to the motherfucking jungle._

_Well, I think you've heard enough of Prison Diaries for the day, so I'm going to. It's been five weeks now. Thanks for sticking with me._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Review, I beg of you... thoughts on Cuddy's response?**


	6. Week Six

**Week 6**

**Author's Note: Thank you to OldSFfan, JLCH, IHeartHouseCuddy, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, Hammy, justlobe, vicpei, givemekevinbacon, momsboys, southpaw2, and all the guests who reviewed! Your reviews, feedback, and support feed my magic creativity machine! :D**

* * *

**Day 36:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Maybe, just maybe, if two people want that elusive fairy tale ending enough, they can get it. At least that's what I keep telling myself. Because I've come face to face with the fact that I can't be with someone other than you. Ever. I will always be drawn back to you, even if I get out of here and you kick me in the balls and tell me never to speak to you again. Even if I don't see you ever again. There will never be anyone else._

_We've gone through hell and back together. We've screwed each other so many times (both literally and metaphorically) and yet we keep coming back every time. We're addicted to each other's neuroses, to the fighting, to the constant battle between ourselves. We spend ninety percent of our time trying to figure out whether we want to strangle each other or kiss each other._

_We're rivals, even though we're on the same side. __We__ are the result when a tornado meets a volcano. We are both so fucked up that it seems like every time we are in the room together we're five seconds away from disaster._

_We finally reached one disaster that got you to see that. To see that it's likely that nothing good will ever come of us being together._

_This is what hours spent alone in a cell does to you. That all kind of just came out. I guess I've moved on from trying to find the flaws in myself and our relationship to just trying to make sense of it. The word 'clusterfuck' comes to mind._

_I've got to stop before I say something I regret. I'm not in the right mindset to be doing this right now._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 37:  
**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I think this place is finally starting to get to me. Obviously, jail isn't exactly a fun place, but I feel like the walls are closing in on me. It's been thirty seven days since I've been outside. And no, I do not count the yard as actually being outside. Twenty foot tall chain link fences, watch towers, and armed guards do not a pleasurable outdoor stroll make._

_I actually feel a lot of sympathy for the guys who have long sentences in here. Yes, that's right, I feel sympathy for someone. Change is a great thing, Cuddy. It may be their actions that got them stuck in here, and most of them deserve what they get... like me, but still. It sucks for them, and I can certainly empathize with them._

_Orton says I'm one of the only guys that writes to people on the outside. Says the people in here for life or for decades just give up contact with the outside. Too painful, I guess._

_Speaking of people on the outside... tomorrow's Wednesday. Visiting Day. I'm not asking for anything, I'm not expecting anything... but seeing you or Wilson might be the thing I need to keep my from going insane in here. I'm not trying to guilt trip you here, but I'm starting to get the feeling that the outside world, my life, I feel almost like it never even happened. Because in here, it doesn't matter what happened to you out there. It only matters what you did to get locked up._

_You know how I feel. I miss you. I love you. I care about you. I'm sorry. Just thought I'd get all of that out of the way in case you show up tomorrow. Don't want to burn up our slim conversation time, though if you do come you'll probably hear the last one about eighty seven more times._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 38:  
**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_That was definitely unexpected. Just in case my suspicions of you being the reason Wilson came are wrong, guess what? Wilson came! He'll probably give you a description, but it's not like I have much else to talk about besides that, so prepare for a blow by blow._

_I walked out like I usually do, standing in the back and doing a quick check to see if you guys were there. For the first time in five weeks, someone was waiting for me. __Normal friends would have walked up to each other, hugged, asked how the other was doing... well, I started that sentence with the word normal, so that already indicated it couldn't possibly refer to Wilson and I._

_His wrist is still in a cast. I didn't know I did that much damage to it._

_Anyway, I walked up to him, and he kind of just looked at me. I looked at him. Then I decided I should just tell him what I told you._

"_I fucked up." I mean, it pretty much sums everything up, doesn't it? He just kind of sighed in that extraordinarily Wilsonish way._

"_Yeah."_

_Then we talked. Honestly, I was insanely happy to see him. It reminded me that you're all out there, that my world still exists. That there is a light at the end of this tunnel._

_I interrogated news out of him. I'm glad to hear you listened to me and left the department to Foreman. It sucks that Thirteen left, though. I guess it just wasn't worth it without me. Understandable, after all, I was the key stone personality... but as black substitute lynch pins go, Foreman's a good choice. And I'm glad you didn't quit. Your job may drive you insane, but you love it._

_I asked him if you'd said anything about me, for obvious reasons._

"_House, I'm not playing messenger boy between you and Cuddy. It's up to you two to work out your problems."_

_How true. This at least gives me some vague hope that maybe we can work things out. I've told you this before, I don't care what I have to do, I will work for the rest of my life to earn your forgiveness, and hopefully someday I'll actually earn it._

_Anyway, we talked for the full two hours, then he left. I told him I was sorry. He said he knew that. He also said he'd be back next week._

_If you had anything to do with him coming, thank you. I needed that more than I let on, and I kind of let on quite a bit. He's my best friend... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I need him._

_Ugh, I spend two hours with the guy and his caring sentimentality has already infected me._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 39:  
**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I really wish someone in here would get sick or something. What I wouldn't give to participate in a differential right now. If I ever manage to get my license back, I'm never going to undervalue my job again. I'm never going to retire. I'll just work until I die. It's a much better alternative than boredom._

_That's really my greatest enemy, boredom. Boredom leads to finding something to entertain me. Sometimes that's not always a healthy choice._

_The only thing worse than being bored is being sober and bored, but strangely enough the idea of taking vicodin hasn't even crossed my mind. Don't get me wrong, the addict mentality is still there. I want to take vicodin, very, very badly- but I won't. I can't. As soon as I take that little pill (or pills, knowing me) any chance of forgiveness from you is down the toilet._

_It's pretty obvious where you stand on my habit._

_I'm really getting better Cuddy, even though I know it's hard to believe. The shit has to hit the fan before you can clean it up._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 40:  
**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I know I've been getting a bit on the philosophical side lately, but when you spend most of your day doing either mindless work or staring at a wall, that tends to happen. It's not like I ever really stop thinking anyway, it's just when I had my life and a job I had something to think about other than how I screwed up, once again proving the effectiveness of the penal system._

_I don't believe in unconditional love. You know that. __Everything is conditional__. You just can't anticipate the conditions. This might seem like a hole in my logic that you are the only person I will ever love, and the whole overly-romantic gesture of swearing never to stop fighting for you... but that isn't a sign of unconditional love. It's a sign of unconditional need._

_People don't stay together their whole lives because of unconditional love. They stay together because they love each other... and because they need each other. Do you know what it's like to need someone? Not just in, "I enjoy their company" need. As in, "life has little or no meaning without you" need. I don't know if you know what that feels like. You're good at hiding your emotions, Cuddy. Especially for a woman. Wow, that sounded sexist. Prison can't fix everything. Albeit at this point I'd give my good leg to see someone of the opposite sex... but I digress. _

_I need you, Cuddy. I admit that I'm selfish, but everyone in the world is. I don't spend my life trying to convince myself that I'm not like most people. Every desire is born out of selfishness. No one can claim complete abnegation. _

_And that's why I'll never give up. So maybe unconditional love is just a euphemism for "I really fucking need you". Maybe it's not an illusion, just mislabeled._

_I better stop before I start writing prose or something. Bye for now._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 41:  
**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I've got bad news. Very, very, very bad news._

_You know that whole trusting a con man thing we covered? Yeah, that turned out to be an even worse idea than I thought._

_Orton's gone. He escaped last night. He must have used the trash disposal or something, I don't have a clue how he did it. The fact that he didn't mention it to me means that there was a reason he didn't want me to know. He has access to my bank account. This means not only is my means of protection cut off (no money and the gangs will not be happy) but when I get out I'm so royally fucked it's not even funny._

_This is what I get for trusting someone... shit, I still have eight and a half months left in this hell hole. How am I supposed to survive that long with zero friends and zero leverage?_

_I'm scared out of my goddamn mind. I'm still on crutches for another week, so now I'm not only alone but I look vulnerable. I'm an antelope hanging out in a pride of hungry, tattooed lions, sexually repressed lions._

_If I don't write back, you know why._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 42:  
**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Well, I don't think the gangs have figured out they're not getting paid yet. I think Orton was paying them weekly, so hopefully they won't be out for blood until tomorrow. Gives me a day to try and come up with a plan._

_Honestly, I'm kind of out of ideas at this point. I have nothing to offer them. The little amount of vicodin I have is going to Tiny's gang, and I can hardly withdraw that and give it to the Nazis instead. They're the ones I'm worried about, not really the black and Latino gangs. All those years with Foreman must have made me likable to minorities. _

_My crutches could function as good enough weapons, I suppose, but I'm not lugging these around for giggles. I kind of need them to stand._

_I guess I'll really just hope for the best. If they beat the shit out of me again, I'll be put in protective custody probably. Protective custody means months and months and months completely alone. No job. No interaction._

_So, basically it looks like I'm trapped between two walls, one labeled 'insanity' and the other labeled 'death'._

_Guess which one I'll pick?_

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please review, even if it's only one word!**


	7. Week Seven

**Week Seven**

**Author's Note: Thank you to IHeartHouseCuddy, givemekevinbacon, iamawallflower, JLCH, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, ohwindot, Little Greg, momsboys, justlobe, LapizSilkwood, Rhastahippy, and all the guests who reviewed. Here's the next update. :)**

**Disclaimer: House and Cuddy aren't mine, unfortunately. I just borrowed them from David and Katie...**

* * *

**Day 43:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I will always love you. You, and only you. Please don't forget about me. Goodbye._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 44:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Well, sorry about yesterday's letter being so overly dramatic. At the time, I was convinced I was going to die. Obviously since I'm writing you today, I'm still very much alive. _

_You're probably wondering what yesterday's letter was about. I shall explain._

_The other gangs weren't exactly elated by the fact that they suddenly stopped getting money, but in general it was just a little shoving and trash talking as consequence, and a warning that if I crossed them they wouldn't be so forgiving in the future. Obviously I'm paraphrasing, they peppered it with a lot more "know what I'm sayings?" and "motherfucker"s._

_I've mentioned before the white supremacists aren't too fond of me. So, add me no longer paying them, and they've gone from "not too fond" to "kill him now"._

_It looks like the prison gods were smiling on me yesterday, though. Tiny got out of solitary today. His gang is the one I've been giving my vicodin to, and they're still okay with me because of that and the fact that I'm Tiny's roommate. _

_The Nazis didn't get the memo he was out. They came by my cell, make shift shanks and incredibly nasty demeanors on hand. I think they were going to kill me. It was their leader, Roland Mackenzie, and then two of his lackeys._

_I guess somewhere along the lines, Tiny decided I deserved to live. They came in, expecting to have me dead on the ground in a few minutes, when this 6' 9" black tank comes barreling towards them. He takes Mackenzie and bashes him headfirst into the wall, knocks him out, then lifts up one of the other ones and throws him out of the cell. The other guys kind of just looked at him and then turned on his heel and ran out._

_I asked him why he helped._

"_You white, and you ain't on their side. I like you, Crippy."_

_Crippy. Not a terrible nickname, all things considered. I feel a little bit safer, knowing that Tiny has my back to a certain degree. He's a bit more intimidating than Orton was, and not nearly smart enough to steal from me._

_So, yeah, I'm still alive. Just thought I'd let you know._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 45:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Thanks. I guess you care enough to make sure I wasn't robbed blind. It would have made sense for me to tell you to do something, but I thought the last thing I had the right to do was ask for help. Anyway, Wilson told me that you called the bank and got my account number changed... thank you. Seriously. _

_It was great to see Wilson again. Honestly, I didn't even expect him to come again. That's me, always looking on the bright side. I'm not pessimistic, I'm realistic. Most people, if you treat them like crap and take advantage of their friendship over and over again, they tend to go away._

_Thankfully, Wilson isn't one of those people._

_Wilson suggested that I try and become nice and close to Tiny, so even if I don't give his gang my pills, they'll still watch my back, and I can use the vicodin to bargain for protection from one of the other gangs. There's not enough pills in the world to make the Nazis like me, but I could probably win over one of the Latino games._

_Prison politics are even more annoying than office politics, aren't they?_

_I asked Wilson about you. How you were doing. He said that for someone who just threw the love of her life in prison and had a car driven into her house, you're doing remarkably well._

_Wound's still fresh, I see. Understandable, to say the least. If you ever forgive me, it'll probably be too soon._

_He said that you and Rachel are good. Rachel managed to get into a good preschool. I'm happy. The kid really is smart. She'll be just like her mom some day. Only less of a bitch, since she isn't genetically related to your mother. _

_I hope one of these days I'll see you standing there with Wilson. Fingers crossed, right?_

_Love, House  
_

**Day 46:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_God, I feel even more cut off than usual. Leaving my cell for any reason other than work and to eat isn't exactly a great idea with the current state of my prison cred. Tiny's gang offers a modicum of protection, but they can't be around all the time and all they need is a few of them to corner me in an out of the way corridor, and I'm dead._

_Dead is not something I really want to be, coincidentally. I've made it over a month and a half in this hell hole, here's hoping I can survive another eight and a half so I can make it out of here._

_I've been on my best behavior. In the report of my attack a couple weeks back, it went down on paper as it not being my fault and being unprovoked. Fingers crossed they might let me out early. I doubt it though, considering my history. I may be a first time jail bird, but I'm definitely not a first time offender. Tritter's little witch hunt a few years back is not doing me any favors in here._

_Maybe if I hadn't been such an idiot back then, I'd manage to get myself out a couple months earlier. I should've just apologized to the son of a bitch, and then he would've left me (and the rest of us for that matter) alone. __What Tritter did was wrong, and I'm not saying anything specific because pretty much everything from the point we met until I was acquitted was wrong, but I could have stopped it all there if I hadn't been a stubborn idiot._

_So yeah, the past comes back to bite me once again. It's taken so many chunks out of my ass at this point that I'm running out of flesh back there. I'm sorry, that's definitely a problem you wouldn't understand._

_Ah. How nostalgic, ass jokes. Just like old times, right? Anyway, I've got more nervous fidgeting and fearing for my life to do, so I'll write you again tomorrow, like always. I miss you._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 47:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Do you know what I did today? I listened to a reverend speak in the penitentiary yard. I know, I can't believe it either, but most of the inmates were out there, and there was no way in hell I was staying in here with only a few other people around. God knows that's what the Nazis were hoping for._

_A group of these 'missionaries' comes in once a year and write it off as their service to society. Think their doing us all some good, letting us know that God loves us all and forgives all transgressions as long as we feel remorse. Raped a few innocent children? No prob, the big guy upstairs will forgive you._

_People only seek forgiveness from a higher power because they can't find a way to forgive themselves. They're trying to relieve their own guilt by fooling themselves into thinking someone else is shouldering the burden. We carry our pain alone. Most people spend their lives trying to deny that. _

_I came to terms with it a long time ago._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 48:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I get off my crutches tomorrow, thank God. I'd really like to know how fast I can run with my bum leg, because I have a very bad feeling that I'm going to need to test my capacity for physical activity sooner than I'd like._

_It's something to look forward to, though. Being able to get around with only one crutch instead of two. Not to mention a nice wooden cane makes a much better weapon. Trust me. I may do tricks with my cane like a pro, but I've hit myself in the face with it enough times to know it doesn't feel so hot._

_At least I'll have an excuse to hang out in the infirmary for awhile. I've been avoiding walking there, because like I said before, I do not want to get caught alone. I'm going to wake up early tomorrow and head down there before the other guys are up, hopefully the guards won't give me much trouble._

_I swear, if I go to all the trouble to get my crippled ass down there and Adams says my leg hasn't healed enough to ditch the crutches, I'm going to... well, I wouldn't really do anything other than be rude and insensitive, but I'm like that regardless, so it wouldn't make much in the way of difference._

_The days really drag on in here, I've noticed. Not really a huge surprise when everyday is the exact same thing. I have no clue how I'm still finding things to write to you about. I'm sure these letters will get boring eventually... but don't you think for a second I'll stop writing. You can't get rid of me that easily._

_Well, actually, you can. If you ever want me to stop writing you, tell me, and I will. The last thing I want to do is make you hate me more than you already do._

_I hope you're doing well. I love you, miss you, care about you... the usual. You know how I feel, but I figured repetition might get me somewhere. Do I get points for consistency?_

_Love, House  
_

**Day 49:**

_Dear House,_

_I don't hate you._

_Sincerely, Cuddy  
_

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Wow. I'm pretty sure that just made my day. Fuck it, that made my month. I'm glad you don't hate me. Maybe all these 'pour my heart out' letters are actually doing some good. At least I accomplished something while in prison._

_I'm back on my own two feet, no more crutches. It's kind of good to have my cane back. I don't know why a symbol of my pain and injury would be comforting to me, but I suppose my cane is sort of like my security blanket. That probably makes absolutely no sense, but whoever said letters from convicted ex boyfriends had to make sense?_

_Seven weeks. Only roughly thirty three more to go. If I make it... God, I'll never so much as speed again. TV makes prison seem so easy. Bribe the guards, then sit around doing whatever you want whenever the hell you want to do it, which is pretty much my style... everyone knows being a grown up means you don't have to do anything. But in prison, your a child in a barbwire playpen, and the other kids don't like me very much._

_I guess all I can do is keep my head down and try not to pee in the sandbox._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: I don't know how Cuddy could just magically change House's bank account number, but hey, this IS magical fanfiction land.**


	8. Week Eight

**Week 8**

**Author's Note: Thank you to OldSFfan, IHeartHouseCuddy, JLCH, Abby, HilsonFTW, lenasti16, Alex, HuddyGirl, Rhastahippy, Flatpickluvr, OhwindotIReallt, and all the guests that reviewed. :D Seriously, your feedback makes me glow.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. All rights go to David Shore and the Fox Production Company.  
**

* * *

**Day 50:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Is it bad that I am now coming up with imaginary cases in my mind to solve in my free time? Maybe not bad, but definitely sad. Sad how much I miss my job, which is definitely strange since I spent a good chunk of my time avoiding doing my job._

_I have an addictive personality. I've got no puzzles and no vicodin, and my mind is more restless than it's ever been. Thank God I'm inside of here and the restlessness doesn't do much harm to anyone but me. But, for a self-centered person like myself, that's not really a plus._

_So, yeah, other than the boredom threatening to drive me completely fucking crazy, I'm fine. Thanks again for the letter, seriously. Knowing that you don't completely hate my guts, that's the best news I've gotten in awhile. Fifty days, actually._

_I always wish I had more to tell you in these letters, but other than my constant paranoia that someone's going to stab me to death, prison's not nearly as exciting as it's made out to be. I have to tell you though, there's no way I'll ever be able to watch The Green Mile again after this..._

_Anyway, I guess that's all for today. Tune in tomorrow for an update on Prison Diaries._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 51:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_There was a huge blowout fight in the cafeteria today. One of the Latino guys upended a table a bunch of the Nazis were sitting at (he just got out of three months in solitary, saying he's mentally unstable is the understatement of the year) and, well, they weren't very happy. I have to say, it provided some excellent entertainment, at least the little bit of it I saw. It escalated from the Nazis jumping the Latino guy to every fucking person in the room throwing punches at each other._

_I, clever as always, slipped out the side door and headed back to the homestead. I really don't feel like ending up back in the infirmary. I've come to value agitated pacing far too much to go back on crutches._

_Thankfully, Tiny and most of his gang came out with minimal injuries, and I think only one of them got thrown in the hole. Some would consider trying to rip someone's throat out with your teeth frightening behavior, so I think I can understand putting him in isolation._

_Even better, Roland got his ass kicked. He's down in the infirmary, unconscious still. I think I'll drop by tomorrow and ask Adams how he's doing. It's a hell of a lot safer walking around by myself now that the crazy bastard's out of commission, not to mention most of his goons are either in isolation or down in the infirmary now. They used to be the biggest gang in the prison, but now their numbers have dropped significantly, which is great news for me._

_I'm hoping he'll be in there awhile... prison is a lot more enjoyable when you're not convinced you're about to be killed every fifteen seconds. So, on a misery scale of one to suicidal, I'm clocking in at a tepid 6.5 right now. Definitely one of my better days in here._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 52:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Although you'll probably get the story from Wilson, I'll tell you what's been going on in House Land anyway._

_First thing this morning, I dropped by the infirmary. Going early in the morning is still a good idea, even if the Nazis aren't really out in force right now. I'm still the metaphorical runt of the litter, whether I like it or not._

_I came in, and almost every bed in there's got one of the white supremacists sleeping in it. Karma's a bitch. Roland was laid up, looked like he had a few broken bones. I talked to Adams, and she says it looks like he's somehow slipped into a coma._

_Weird thing, though. There's no apparent head trauma. I don't understand why he'd be in a coma. I mentioned he might have an underlying condition, and Adams said it seemed like I was right. Overall, he got away with a broken arm, a broken leg, two cracked ribs, and a busted lip._

_Just in case your years as an administrator have completely destroyed your medical training, those aren't anywhere near the brain. I have to admit, I'm interested. Of course I'm reaching the point where someone sneezing would be interesting. I may have distracted Adams and nabbed his chart... (she likes me, but she's not going to risk her job showing me confidential patient information) and he's got extremely high blood pressure._

_When Adams came back, I asked her if he had a history of high blood pressure, or if it ran in his family, and she said no. So, what causes elevated blood pressure and inexplicable coma?_

_I'm back, baby._

_Roland may be a royal prick, but this gives me something to do, a puzzle to solve... exactly what I need. Once again the prison gods have come through for me._

_I told Wilson all the same things I'm telling you now, obviously, and he thinks I should just let Adams and the other doctors down in the infirmary do their job. He says the last thing I should do is do something idiotic or rash to get my sentence extended._

_There is no way in hell I'm risking that happening. I'm still totally going to stick my nose in Roland's case, don't get me wrong, but... I won't get caught._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 53:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So I'm thinking he has scurvy. It makes sense, doesn't it? Prison food isn't exactly brimming with nutrients, he's probably got lower vitamin C levels than fucking Blackbeard. It fits the elevated blood pressure as well, not to mention the scurvy's often set off by sudden trauma._

_I mentioned it to Adams, she said that one, how did I know how he had high blood pressure, and two, that it was a good idea and she'd run his vitamin levels and see how his vitamin C was fairing._

_I explained away the high blood pressure thing by saying it was a lucky guess, but I don't think she bought it. She's smart, smarter than most of the idiots I have the displeasure of meeting. I'm definitely getting her resume when I'm out of here. Chase could always use another pretty young girl to replace the gaping hole Cameron left in his poor little heart._

_I really missed you today. Now that I actually have a medical case floating around in my head, I keep expecting you to walk through my cell door and tell me I'm crazy or tell me I need to get my ass down to the clinic because I owe you hours..._

_When I get out of here, if for someone absolutely ridiculous reason I end up being your employee again, I will never avoid clinic duty again. I swear. Like I've said and will continue to say, prison has made me value my job a lot more._

_But hey, a serial rapist wants to check out To Kill a Mockingbird, so I've got to go. I hope you're doing good. Wilson said you were... guess I'll have to take his word for it._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 54:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_It's not scurvy. He went into V-fib this morning, which is definitely not a symptom of vitamin C deficiency. Not to mention Adams got his vitamin panel back, and he must be shooting up with orange juice or something when no one's looking, because his levels are fine._

_Lung involvement means we're looking at something that has the potential to be systemic. I'm thinking Legionnaire's, the vents in this place go everywhere, and they clean the showers maybe once very decade, so all we need is some funky water vapors from the showers to get ventilated out, and it ends up loading Roland's lungs up with Legionella._

_The head doctor down in the infirmary, Kossel, who only graces the place with his presence once or twice a week tops thinks it's Lupus. God, even in prison I can't escape Lupus. I will say this for the millionth time, it's not Lupus. That's an evasion, not a diagnosis._

_I went down there when Kossel was hanging around, and he ordered me out. He asked Adams what the hell I was doing there, and I covered for her. Said I was trying to sneak down there to see if Roland was still unconscious. He said if he caught me there again he'd call the guards and have my sentence extended._

_Conclusion? Stay away from the infirmary..._

_...during the day when Kossel's there. With how fast Roland's degenerated, the old fuck will probably be there everyday, so I'll just have to head down there at night. Adams works night shift on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, so no worries. She gets really crappy hours, but it's lucky for me._

_So yeah, things are... marginally more interesting than usual, which definitely is helping my ever decreasing sanity. I'll talk to you tomorrow, and hopefully I'll have good news. Well, Roland being cured would actually be terrible news for me and most of the people in this place, but half the people I save don't deserve a second chance... so that's nothing new._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 55:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Kossel is such a self-righteous idiot. If he starts giving him prednisone, it'll trash his immune system and he won't be able to fight off the POISONOUS BACTERIA THAT'S INFECTING HIS LUNGS AND BRAIN. Obviously I can't talk to the moron without getting my sentence lengthened, but Adams can._

_I managed to convince her last night that he's got Legionnaire's. She, unlike Kossel, has two brain cells to put together and didn't get her medical degree from a gum ball machine, and agreed with me that if it was Lupus, his renal system would be affect. Which it isn't. So I'm right._

_I don't know what she's going to do. I told her the only way to keep the bastard alive is to switch out the prednisone that Kossel's going to start him on today and start him on broad spectrum antibiotics. She said that if she gets caught, she'll lose her job._

_I told her she's probably right. I don't know Adams that well. I know if it was Chase, Foreman, Thirteen or Taub in this position... they'd swap out the drugs. But Adams isn't my lackey, and I don't know if I've imparted enough of my renegade wisdom on her yet._

_I don't know why I'm fighting for this guy. I hate his guts, and he's a miserable piece of shit of a human being... but he's sick. I'm a doctor. Two plus two equals four. It's just the way my brain has ended up operating. I see a sick person, I try and help them, no matter whether they deserve it or not. Dear God, I'm turning into Wilson..._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 56:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So, I'm going to ask you to do me a favor... which I don't really have any right to do, considering everything. You've been unbelievably... I don't know. Just, the fact that you read these, sent Wilson here, don't hate me, saved my account from getting embezzled... it was kind. And forgiving. I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I haven't even begun to earn it, but yet here I am, asking for another favor..._

_Well, at least his one benefits you, so it's not nearly as selfish and narcissistic of a request. Adams was a good girl and switched Roland's meds, the fucker's already off his ventilator... I was right. It's Legionnaire's._

_Kossel, unfortunately, figured out pretty quickly that his meds had been switched (Doctors check things like that. Crazy, right?) and Adams got the boot. This is going to look really bad on her record, and she won't be getting any recommendations from the prison warden or Kossel, that's for damn sure._

_She's a good doctor, Cuddy, and she's not a mindless sheep. You could use someone like her. Hell, if Foreman's looking for someone new on the team, maybe you could put her in diagnostics... otherwise, I'm sure there must be an opening in the ICU or the ER or something. I'm asking you to at least give her a chance... new hiring opportunities, right?_

_Another favor. You're going to need to send me a letter back to tell me whether you'll give Adams a chance or not... she gave me her address (giving inmates your address, awesome idea) and told me to send her a letter when I knew if she had a chance at PPTH. I mentioned I might be able to help her get a position there, but I said I couldn't make any promises._

_So yeah, if you want to give her shot... let me know._

_I love you. I miss you. I care about you. I'm sorry. And no, I'm not saying that stuff to try and convince you to do this for me, I'm saying it because, well, it needs saying._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, some medical stuff in this chapter... bad news: it's not accurate. I winged it all, so please don't correct it, I know it's wrong. The fact of the matter is that it would slow down the updates by a huge margin if I had to do research, and with all the other fics I'm juggling (my own fault there) it's just not in the cards for this one. Anywho, review? Pretty please?**


	9. Week Nine

**Week 9**

**Author's Note: Thank you to JLCH, IHeartHouseCuddy, Green Falcon913, 0timeaftertime0, Abby, christy, Alex, HuddyGirl, justlobe, LapizSilkwood, precioussoulandsweetcheeksii n1, and to all the guests who reviewed. :D Your support means everything. I'm more nervous as this goes on... I don't want to let anyone down!**

**Disclaimer: House and the gang aren't mine. David Shore has that ****privilege.**

* * *

**Day 57:**

_Dear House,_

_Tell her to send me a resume. Foreman's been looking for another woman to hire for the team._

_Sincerely, Cuddy  
_

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Thanks, seriously. For both responding to my letter and giving Adams a chance. I sent her a letter saying to send you her resume. She's a good doctor. I'm really surprised you're dignifying me with responses occasionally._

_I thought when you took me to court, I thought that was it. I'd blown my last chance of any kind of relationship between us at all, even a professional relationship. When I get out of here, I'd settle just to have you not completely hate me. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not going to try everything I possibly can to get you back._

_I will never take you for granted again. Jail's taught me a lot. In here, there is no comfort, and there is no escape. It's just this. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try and forget about your situation, you can't. You're in jail. The end. It's fucking miserable._

_Roland should be out of the infirmary soon, back to terrorizing the prison population. Yippee. That's the only downside of curing him, he gets to live. He probably has no idea that I'm the reason he's still alive, so when he's out, he'll still want me dead. More of the Nazis are getting released tomorrow, so I'll have to go back to the looking over my shoulder and being ridiculously paranoid routine. At least some of them are still in isolation._

_I miss you, more and more each day. Yeah, that sounds cheesy, but like I said - prison. It sucks._

_Remember, Visiting Days are Wednesdays... I'm an ass for asking that much from you after everything, but seeing you would be... I don't really know how to tell you how much it would mean to me to see you, to know maybe there's some chance of reconciliation._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 58:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Getting my cane kicked out from under me, now that's something I haven't experienced in a few years. One of Roland's lackeys got out of the infirmary today, and I had the misfortune to be standing next to him in the lunch line. Doesn't feel terribly good on my freshly healed leg, or my thigh muscle._

_That's what sucks about being a cripple, how vulnerable it makes you. I'm six two, for fuck's sake, but I'm about as intimidating as a six year old. It's infuriating. In the outside world, sometimes it comes in handy. People feel pity for me, which is disgusting, but it also lets me get away with stuff. In here, it's strictly a disadvantage. Throw that in with the fact that I'm not a minority, (or racist) and I've got a lot of points against me in here. At least Tiny and his gang like me, or I'd have been dead weeks ago._

_Isn't it funny that it's basically the inmates that run this place? It's like the prison staff and guards are just background characters, like we're all lions in a pit and they're just watching us fight. Unless a huge fight breaks out, they stand by with their thumbs up their asses and do nothing._

_Yeah, got to love the criminal justice system._

_Tomorrow's my favorite day of the week. I get to see Wilson and hear him prattle on about morality and right and wrong and... I don't know what else, after that point I generally stop listening. Miss you._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 59:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I've made a decision._

_Saying that time heals all wounds is wishful thinking. Not really wishful thinking actually, more of a misconception. Time dulls the pain only because people forget, memories fade, hurt lessens. You remember that woman I treated with the perfect memory? She was miserable and alone, because she remembered with absolute and perfect clarity every bad thing that was ever done to her by her loved ones._

_Hopefully your recall isn't that good, or I'm screwed. Maybe... maybe it's just best if I don't see you until I'm out of prison. Obviously it's kind of a stupid thing to say, since you haven't come to see me, but just in case you ever reach the point where you would think about it, don't. Ten months away from you, I guess it's what I deserve. I deserve to have you out of my life for what I did. I'll keep writing you, and maybe you'll write back, but beyond that, I think distance is exactly what we need._

_It makes the heart grow fonder, doesn't it? Or at least causes oceans of resentment to recede somewhat. Maybe this is a way of punishing myself, or maybe it's my logical side taking precedence over my emotional side (a side which I'm pretty much just now acknowledging that I possess)._

_Anyways, tell Rachel happy birthday for me, will you? Yeah, I remembered. Despite what you may think, I care about her. I hope she gets plenty of plunder for her birthday... argh._

_It's hard to believe she's four. She's gone from diapers and incoherent baby dribble to semi understandable stilted sentences and blocks. Ah, progress._

_The visit with Wilson was good as usual. Not much to say that you don't already know. After all, you seem him everyday, I only see him once a week._

_Well, I'm just sitting here in the library (which is dead as usual, half the population here is illiterate) and I don't really have an excuse to stop writing, other than the fact that I have nothing more to say. No one tried to kill me and no mysterious medical cases popped up, so I don't have much to share._

_Love, House_

**Day 60:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Just warning you, my letter is going to be short today. I feel like shit. I don't know what's wrong with me, I must have gotten the flu or food poisoning or something. Not like the maintenance crew here's ever heard of the word 'disinfectant', so in reality it's a wonder it's taken me this long to get sick. Doctor's immune system aside, this place is a damn breeding ground. No flu shots either._

_I've been throwing up every hour since I woke up this morning, and if the fact that I feel like my blood is on fire probably indicates I've got a fever. How ironic, the doctor gets sick. Fucking hilarious._

_There's no such thing as a sick day in prison. You have to be on death's door to get put in the infirmary, and now that Adams isn't here, I can't go in there and get something to settle my stomach. I guess I'll just continue puking into the trashcan in the library and try not to pass out._

_Prison motto? "Pass out, and stuff WILL happen."_

_Another wave just hit me, and I really don't want to puke on the letter, so I'll bow out for the day. I hope everything's going well for you._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 61:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_You know that whole, "On Death's Door" thing? Yeah, well, maybe I should have knocked on wood. I'm in the infirmary. They took me here last night when my fever got so bad I started hallucinating. Stumbled out of bed and collapsed on the ground, screaming and throwing up on myself. At least that's what the guards told the new doc in the infirmary, Klein._

_You get used to seeing nasty, disturbing things, being a doctor, but when they happen to you, well, it's kind of terrifying. The last thing I remember is going to sleep last night, next thing I knew it was noon and I was in the infirmary._

_This isn't just a bug. I've been poisoned. It can't be a coincidence that one of Roland's lackeys works in the kitchen. They're not too hard to spot, what with the swastikas and bald heads._

_I'm guessing they slipped me something in my drink. Well, not really guessing, I'm almost sure. I'm barely coherent right now, I'm thinking maybe led... my mind's fried. If these idiots can't figure out what's wrong with me, I'll either starve to death or they'll have to put me on a feeding tube. I'm so feverish right now in spite of the cooling blankets that I can barely think. And I've managed to diagnose patients with a severe concussion._

_I can't even eat lunch without someone trying to kill me here. Even if I get out of here, I don't know what I'm going to do. They'll just keep trying to kill me over and over and over again until they succeed. I'm not sure if I can survive another thirty weeks in here._

_If I can even survive the next few days, that is. I'd leave you on that line, but it's too overly dramatic for me._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 62:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Bushman's poison, otherwise known as wintersweet. Ingenious. Nearly undetectable and highly lethal. Luckily I only got a low amount, but if they hadn't pumped my stomach today it still would've killed me. That's an uplifting thought._

_And no, the 'doctors' in the infirmary didn't figure it out, I did. I knew it must have been something hard to detect, otherwise I would've realized the bastard put it in my drink. There's some wintersweet in a corner of the exercise yard, (God only knows why the guards left it there) and I've seen the asshole who poisoned me hanging around there. I found out his name from Tiny. James Henna. Shocker: One of Roland's buddies._

_Yeah, I shouldn't have saved him. Damn the Hippocratic oath._

_They want to keep until Monday for observation, so at least I'm safe until then. Thankfully they don't let any of the convicts help out in the infirmary. The management here is tragically shitty, but at least they know enough to protect the sick._

_So yeah, once more I escape death with nary a scratch. If I counted all the near death incidents I've had over the course of my life... well, I've still got a fever (albeit lower) so I'm too drained to do math, but I think I'm somewhere in the twenties by now._

_Sorry my past few letters have been short... I feel... well, like someone tried to poison me. I promise you as soon as I don't feel like I got hit by a truck, I'll write you a nice, long, detailed letter about how devastatingly boring prison is._

_It's weird being in a hospital bed and not having you next to me, holding my hand. I know I'm getting all cheesy on you, but I'm half delirious, so cut me some slack. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really wish you were here. I miss you constantly. Better stop now before I say something I'll regret... and I already regret too much. I'll talk to you tomorrow._

_Love, House  
_

**Day 63:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So the warden came in to talk to me today. First time I've ever met him. His name's Michael Kinnock. Tall. Canadian. Stupid. Well, the second and third kind of go together. I could smell the distinct scent of maple syrup and socialized medicine a mile away._

_He wants me put in protective custody. Understandable, what with the entire Nazi party after me in here. In fact, it's probably an excellent idea. Only problem with protective custody: no job. No leaving your cell except for when you go into the protected custody yard. I'd literally be getting the same treatment that the fucking pedophiles get._

_Not happening. Prison pushes me closer to the brink of insanity with the perpetual cycle of either boredom or paranoia, and although protective custody would fix the second, it would increase the first ten fold. I need something to occupy me. Even though dusting shelves in a library isn't exactly glamorous, it keeps me busier than sitting in my cell and staring at the wall._

_So yeah, I told him in no uncertain terms that it sure as hell wasn't going to happen. He said he wasn't responsible for anything that happened to me, bla bla bla liability bla bla bla can't sue them bla bla. Turns out hospital administrators and prison wardens worry about the same things._

_So, I've whiled away my day sitting in the infirmary and bitching at the new doctor to let me out. My fever broke, I managed to eat lunch without puking my guts out- I don't need to be here. At all. But no, apparently I still need to be kept for observation another night. It's infuriating._

_I guess I'll just have to sit here and talk to you. Well, 'talk' being a relative term, since I'm writing you and you won't get this letter until tomorrow. Hopefully everything's good at the hospital. Wilson said that my department, ahem, Foreman's department, is doing well. Taking on more than one case a week, even. Oh Foreman, always looking to outshine me. Looks like he is, too._

_Until they lose a patient. You and I will both know then whether he's ready to handle that department. I think he is, but I can be wrong sometimes... it's a rare occurrence, but it's happened. Of course, I'm generally wrong when it comes to personal stuff. With doctor stuff I'm pretty good._

_Fingers crossed he won't run away with his tail between his legs when one of his patients ends up in the morgue... I'd like to think he's grown up enough not to let that happen._

_Why the hell am I talking about Foreman? See. Boredom strikes again. Next I'll be psychoanalyzing Taub or something. I guess my thoughts just led here, thinking about you and the hospital. Kind of have to think of them together. That hospital is your baby, Cuddy. I'll say this again, I'm glad I didn't chase you away from PPTH. 'Course, it's hard to chase anyone when I'm behind bars._

_I'm not bitter, I'm resigned to my fate. I hold no anger towards you for being in here, it's my own fault. I think you know that._

_I'm all over the place today... I'm going to try and catch a nap, that way there's no way they can make an excuse for holding me tomorrow night too, saying I didn't get enough sleep or something._

_Thinking of you. And not in the creepy way, for once._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Remember, I just winged the medical stuff, though wintersweet is a real poison, I don't know if it has though effects. Also, when House calls Canadians stupid, just let me say this so as to not alienate my Canadian readers: I love our neighbors to the north, I'm just writing from House's point of view, ha. Review, mes amis? :D**


	10. Week Ten

**Week 10**

**Author's Note: Thank you to justlobe, IHeartHouseCuddy, JLCH, HuddyGirl, Abby, Rhastahippy, Alex, precioussoulandsweetcheeksii n1, Lapiz Silkwood, Caitlyn Laurie, and all the guests who reviewed. Also, sorry for the stupidly long wait on this!**

**Disclaimer: House and Cuddy aren't mine!**

* * *

**Day 64:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Free at last. Wait, scratch that, I'm still in prison... but at least I'm not in the infirmary! That's me, always looking on the bright side. I've basically been trying to keep my head down even more, and I'm bordering on being an ostrich at this point. The Nazis have already failed at killing me a few times by now, and they're not going to see how clever I am and just go away. I'm like a twenty first century prison version of Anne Frank._

_Oh well. It's not any different than any other day now that I'm out of the infirmary. However, I definitely learned a lesson. Better to skip a meal than eat something that's been poisoned. There's three servers in the cafeteria, so I make sure to get one of the two that doesn't want my head on a silver platter._

_Also, I kind of realized something today. I don't think my mom knows I'm in prison. Unless she's been keeping an eye on Princeton papers (which would be a good idea, knowing me) there's no way she would know. In all of this craziness Wilson didn't think to call her, and he's generally the one that handles things like that._

_My mom doesn't know I'm in prison. Oopsies. I guess when I see Wilson on Wednesday I'll ask him to call her... or not. I mean, ever since I moved out, I've never been all that open with my mom about anything. I didn't tell her about my infarction until months after the fact. She didn't even know you and I were dating._

_It's not like I was ashamed of you or anything, I just don't like to involve my family in my life. Too many bad memories. After my dad died, ironically, my mother and I talked even less. All she knows about the past couple years was that I went to 'therapy' and moved in with Wilson._

_I love my mom like anyone else... she's just boring. Even growing up, we weren't close, and she's never been a major part of my life._

_Look, now you've got me talking about my mother... you're worse than Nolan. Well, I'm going to try and catch a nap before dinner. I may be out of the infirmary, but I'm still not back to one hundred percent._

_Love, House_

**Day 65:**

_Dear House,_

_You don't need to tell Wilson to call your mother. I called her two weeks into your sentence and told her what happened. It was the first time it occurred to me, which is kind of sad considering she's your mother. I didn't tell her anything she didn't absolutely need to know. I don't know why, but I still respect your privacy. All she knows is that you had a freak out over the break up and drove into my house. That's it._

_Sincerely, Cuddy_

* * *

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Well. That was unexpected. Who knew that all it took was talking about my mom to get you to write back. This certainly explains my "Mother Superior" Cuddy fantasy..._

_Thanks for not going into graphic detail of the past year or so with my mom. I really don't want an unpleasant questions about you and I... or the experimental drugs I was on. I've owned up to what I did, but facing your mom when you do something wrong is not a fun experience. I'm glad she hasn't decided to come traipsing down here with Wilson on visiting day. Dealing with two mothers at once isn't a prospect I think I'd enjoy._

_There's something I really need to thank you for. Thank you for reading these and not just throwing them in the trash or something. This is the only thing that's kept me sane, as I've mentioned several times before. Distraction is the key to survival. That, and keeping my head down. Of course, I've been trying to do that and it certainly hasn't helped me at all, but eh, it's the best strategy I can come up with._

_In prison news: absolutely nothing. Thank God. Other than the usual shoving and angry stares, I'm still perfectly intact. I'll try really hard not to die. Turns out that's not really something I want._

_Love, House_

**Day 66:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Wilson really needs to get a hair cut. It's getting way too long. Once you hit forty five, you can't really pull off the below the ears look without looking either creepy or in denial of your age._

_Yes. My day was that uneventful that I'm commenting on Wilson's hair. Don't get me wrong, Wednesday is still my favorite day of the week. Talking to someone who isn't a) an idiot or b) wants to kill me is a nice treat. Now I just need to talk him into conjugal visits..._

_Relax, prison hasn't turned me gay yet. If twenty years of friendship with Wilson (and watching Chorus Line seven times) hasn't turned me gay, I don't think anything can. Oh, just in case you're wondering, I still haven't been raped! Shower time may be a terrifying experience, but I've made sure not to drop the soap._

_Always happy to hear news from the hospital. Diagnostics is doing good, and Thirteen has a new girlfriend. Now that is the kind of gossip I miss._

_I hope you're okay. Wilson pretty much refuses to talk about anything involving you, because he's chosen for once in his meddling life to completely stay out of our business. You don't have any idea how much I wish I could talk to you. See you. But I fucked up, and that's going to have to wait for awhile._

_I meant what I said before. When I get out of here, if you'll still even acknowledge my existence, I will never take you for granted again. Shit, this is what visits with Wilson do to me. I get all emotionally expressive. I better go. Places to go, people to avoid._

_Love, House_

**Day 67:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So it seems like someone's escape plan didn't go quite as... planned. Orton got his ass hauled back in this morning. Apparently at some point last week, they found him hidden out in his cousin's house. That's a stroke of pure genius, isn't it? Hide in a relative's home, which will easily be one of the first places the cops go to look for you. Well, on average, criminals aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer._

_Actually, let me rephrase that: convicted criminals aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer. Me being the obvious exception. Obviously, I'm an idiot sometimes (maybe more than sometimes), but I've clearly got a few more brain cells to spare than most of the Neanderthals in here._

_I'm staying the hell away from him. I'm sure he'll assure me up and down that he had absolutely NO intentions of stealing from me, and how the only reason he didn't tell me was because (insert lame excuse here)._

_It's taught me a lesson. In prison, keep company with the morons. The smarter someone is, the more devious they are, and the more likely they are to screw you over in the end. See? Life lessons from prison. I can smell the book deal already._

_I missed you a lot today. I miss you everyday, but Thursday's are always the worst, since it's right after visiting day and I know I won't get to see Wilson until next Wednesday. It's really fucking sad that my happiness is dependent on letters and James Wilson. Well, I guess my happiness was pretty much always dependent on Wilson. And you._

_Love, House_

**Day 68:**

_Dear House,_

_Rachel got accepted to Brye Park. I thought you might want to know._

_Sincerely, Cuddy_

* * *

_Dear Cuddy,_

_You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. That was one hell of a day, trying to get them to accept her. A fifth grade career day... how the fuck I thought I could manage that is beyond me. Kids who can't talk (or can barely talk) I can generally manage, but once they can be smartasses they tend to get on my nerves._

_I pretty much talked out of my ass the entire time, but I unfortunately forgot the fact that I was "Dr. Herani" and blew my cover. I actually got sat next to two kids in the principal's office... pretty humiliating. The things we do for those we love. I did that when you thought I didn't care about you, remember? I tried to get her into Waldenwood and failed, then I tried to get her into Brye Park, but I didn't think they'd actually accept her after that stunt._

_I think the principal took pity on me, honestly. One of the few times pity turned out to be useful, I suppose. I'm glad she got into that school. Rachel's a great kid, Cuddy. Smart too._

_I don't know if you remember, but during that whole wreck with Tritter, when we were treating that girl with the idiotic divorced parents. You brought her into the shower to try and cool her down. I was strung out, hadn't slept, going through withdrawal and dealing with my pain being increased ten fold... I lashed out. When I said you would suck as a mother, I didn't mean it. I really didn't._

_I'm sorry for saying that. I know it bothered you, but you've obviously completely proven me wrong. You were born to be a mother, Cuddy. Rachel's going to grow up knowing how much you love her, and how lucky she is._

_I'm not always a cold bastard. It's something I'm trying to work on. I'm glad she made it into Brye Park. She deserves it. You deserve it._

_Love, House_

**Day 69:**

_Dear House,_

_How exactly did you 'help' her get into Waldenwood?_

_Sincerely, Cuddy_

* * *

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Oh... I forgot that I never told you about that... well, I know you really, really wanted to get Rachel into Waldenwood, but at the time I kind of underestimated her intelligence. So I may have pretended that one of the kids that had gone there was sick so I could take pictures of the appointment toys, then went out and bought them and trained Rachel to use them properly when I said I was 'playing' with her._

_Might as well be honest, right? Also, if she has a permanent aversion to caterpillars, that's probably because I covered one of the caterpillar toys with hot sauce so Rachel wouldn't eat it. I also may have utilized a dog training clicker in combination with cheese puffs at some point. But hey, she did great at the appointment! Mission accomplished!_

_I'd worry about you getting mad at me, but I can't really do any more damage than I already have, can I? Plus, it gave me a chance to bond with Rachel. I really do like her, Cuddy. I never faked that. I hate humans in general, but I prefer kids to adults any day. Especially since she's yours._

_So, yeah, sorry about secretly training your kid to 'feed the monkey' and whatnot. I'm sure you won't hold it against me..._

_Love, House_

**Day 70:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I guess you're not that mad, or you would've written me back to bitch at me. I've been in here for seventy days. I don't know why, but that feels like a milestone for some reason. Completely meaningless, obviously, but still. It's hard to believe that time actually passes in here, sometimes._

_Sometimes I feel like I'm just living the same day over and over again. Maybe it's how habitual my existence has become. I mean, it's not like my life was terribly varied before or anything (I got up, went to work, saved lives, went home, got drunk, fell asleep) but the fact that I had the freedom to change up that routine made a huge difference._

_I don't see why I should be surprised. It's kind of a given that prison isn't going to be a fun time. This isn't Australia, they don't call it 'hard time' for nothing. SPOILER ALERT: Prison sucks._

_I don't have much more to add for the day. An entire week's gone by without someone trying to kill or mortally wound me, so it's gone a hell of a lot better than most of my weeks in here. Plus, I got three letters from you... that's definitely a bonus._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: I'll try and update sooner next time, guys! Thoughts?**


	11. Week Eleven

**Week 11**

**Author's Note: Thanks to OldSFfan, KatieF-House, siddigfan, justlobe, IHeartHouseCuddy, Little Greg, HuddyGirl, Abby, Suzieqlondon, JLCH, precioussoulandsweetcheeksii n1, Alex, Reader, Christy, and LapizSilkwood for the reviews. :) Here's a much quicker update, as promised. Sorry if anything's off... I've had a long day and my eyes are drooping.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. I make no money from this.**

* * *

**Day 71:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_So there was a fight today, in the library of all places. As resident inmate/librarian, I got front seat tickets (not to mention a nice big desk in between me and the homicidal maniacs). It reminded me of that death row guy I treated five or six years ago, one of his freak outs was in the library._

_It was two members of the opposing Latin gangs. One just launched across one of the tables at the other, grabbed his neck and started bashing his face against the table. I don't even know what set him off. In here, you don't need much of a reason to attack someone. The numerous and unpleasant injuries I've earned since I got thrown in here are a testament to that._

_So yeah, they beat the shit out of each other in full of view of the whopping one guard in the library and the other two inmates who can read at more than a fourth grade level. They knocked over half the shelves and had nearly killed each other by the time the ancient ass guard managed to call in some backup._

_They really should have more guards in this place. They wonder why every other day someone ends up with a shank buried halfway into their abdomen, it may have a little bit to do with the fact that this place is one of the most understaffed hellholes I've ever seen. Not to mention the guards they actually do have are completely fucking useless._

_Maybe they see it as survival of the fittest. If we die in here, we're weak and we deserve it. Or they're just lazy. Who knows. I'm sure my bitching about the penal system infrastructure is fascinating, but I need to catch some sleep. I love you. You already know that, but I guess it makes me feel better to say it. To know that I've got a connection with someone outside of here, even if it's not returned. Goodnight, Cuddy._

_Love, House_

**Day 72:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_I had nightmares last night. Really, really bad nightmares. Generally I don't dream when I sleep, and even if I do, I don't remember anything once I'm awake. This was different. Vivid, terrible nightmares. They were the most lucid dreams I'd ever experienced, I couldn't believe it when I woke up and they weren't real._

_I was on the bus again. I don't really need to specify... it was mostly like the original memory, it was Amber and I sitting there, and she took her flu pills, but then I looked next to me, I wasn't sitting by some stranger, I was sitting by Wilson. I looked backed to Amber, and you were sitting next to her._

_All the random pedestrians on the bus weren't just random anymore, they were the few people in my life I actually care about. The team. My mom. Rachel... Rachel was sitting in your lap._

_The bus crashed. It was even worse this time, people didn't just get banged up - they died. Every last one. I was in a giant metal coffin filled with corpses, and I couldn't get out. The last thing I remember before I woke up was smelling death, and even once I was awake I swear I could still smell it (of course, prison's naturally smell pretty bad)._

_I don't know why I'm telling you this... it's been bothering me all day. I actually threw up when I first snapped out of it. I'm working on not hiding everything, not holding everything inside of myself. We've seen how fucking fabulous that turned out..._

_I'm glad you're alive. I'm glad you're okay. Both you and Rachel. This mushiness is turning my stomach, but I want you to understand that one of the worst fears in my life, in prison and before, has been losing you. Losing everybody... but especially you. I can't live without you and Wilson. I can't. I've realized that._

_Like I said... I don't believe in unconditional love. I believe in unconditional need._

_Love, House_

**Day 73:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Oh, I feel special. Two visitors today. Chase tagged along with Wilson to come see the poor crippled convict for a pity party. I guess he missed me. He must be lost without me to stand in as his pseudo father figure. Or he just wants to get away from Foreman for a few hours. Both are incredibly good reasons._

_So, instead of Wilson and I just sitting and exchanging gossip, it was the three of us. It was odd. There's a lot of things I would only tell Wilson, I wouldn't dream of letting anyone on my team, current or past (though I suppose they're not really my team anymore) hear some of my private thoughts. Especially not Thirteen... (insert lecherous laugh here)._

_It was uneasy, but it was nice to be around someone from the outside other than Wilson. Being in a social situation where I'm talking simultaneously to two people who aren't complete morons was refreshing. I hear Foreman hired Adams, and she's starting next Monday. I'm glad to hear it. Thanks for giving her a chance. She deserves it... and I may feel a little bit guilty for causing her to lose her job._

_You know, Cameron said I 'corrupted' Chase. Said I was turning him into me... that it was too late for the both of us. I disagree. I don't think it's too late for Chase. He's got time to change things, to steer off of the path he and Foreman are both following... the path to becoming a misanthropic bastard like yours truly. Yeah, she's right about one thing. It's too late for me. At least that's what this orange jumpsuit is telling me._

_Love, House_

**Day 74:**

_Dear House,_

_It's not too late for you. Not yet, anyway._

_Sincerely, Cuddy_

* * *

_Dear Cuddy,_

_My God, Cuddy, was that a spark of hope I just got from you? I really like it when you write back you know... makes me feel a lot less like a creepy convicted ex boyfriend and more like, I don't know, just us. Whatever we are. There's never really been a word to describe us, even when we were dating._

_I always felt odd calling you my girlfriend. I felt like it seemed juvenile, after all those years of almost being there, but not quite. Or maybe it's because I was in my fifties, and by that point most men can call their significant other their wife._

_I still stand by my belief that marriage is a sham that essentially dooms all parties involved to inevitable misery in the name of some long-spoiled delusional ideal of sanctity and eternal love in the eyes of a false God... wow, that was a run-on sentence if I ever saw one. Seems like grammar isn't really the first thing on my mind right now._

_I have to say though, Cuddy, if I had to marry someone, gun to my head (a particularly appropriate comment considering) I'd marry you. You're the only woman I can even imagine myself with anymore, which is sad in itself. I've driven myself into a concept of never ending devotion without actually being married._

_I'm talking about marriage. What the hell is wrong with me? I have to go._

_Love, House_

**Day 75:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_The storm that's brewing has got my leg feeling like someone's stabbing it repeatedly with a butcher knife. It's one of those moments where I really, really wish I had some kind of pain meds. Obviously, vicodin would be nice, but I'm not going back there... but I can't even get aspirin in here. They don't like handing out meds to the inmates, in case they repurpose them for slightly less on the level activities._

_For people who aren't terribly intelligent, they certainly are resourceful. The things you can turn into toilet wine and prison drugs is really astounding. Can't say I've sampled the merchandise. With my addictive personality, turns out drugs and alcohol aren't the best idea for me. Huge revelation, right?_

_So, yeah, not one of my best days in here. In all reality, none of my days in here are good. It's prison. As I've mentioned on many occasions, this place is not a picnic. It's not suppose to be. It fucking sucks, even when I have a wonderful ear to complain to._

_I really just want to lay down and try not to bang my head off of the wall repeatedly. It's been a rough day, I just need to get emotionally away from this place since I can't get away physically. Not for quite a few more months._

_I'm counting the days, as always. Getting out of here seems like this impossible dream, but I swear to God, I will get out of here, and I will do everything in my power to make up for what I've done. I won't die on you, and even though I know I will never be able to completely fix things, I will try and make them better. If you can't fix it, at least try and put some duct tape on it._

_Love, House_

**Day 76:**

_Dear House,_

_Stop worrying about fixing this, whatever 'this' is. You need to worry about fixing yourself first._

_Sincerely, Cuddy_

* * *

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Oh, if I had a dime for every time I've heard that I need to fix myself... of course, the many, many people who have said it are completely right. And so are you._

_I've been trying to fix myself for so long I can't keep track of where all the cracks are. I'm fifty two, Cuddy. You can only try to change who you are so many times before you start to think that maybe you're just doomed to keep making the same mistakes, putting your life on permanent repeat. I don't believe people can change, but I like I've said before, I really am trying to change how I act._

_I can only throw my life over the cliff without a second thought so many times before I reach the point where the bottom's too far for me to survive. Well, I guess since I'm in prison, I've pretty much already reached that point. Next stop is death. I need to stop the train before that happens._

_Self destruction always has an ultimate end. I have to stop. This has to stop._

_I have to fix myself. For myself, for Wilson, for you - for everyone. I don't know if I can do it. Actually, I'm fairly confident that I can't... but I will try. It's the only option I've got left._

_Love, House_

**Day 77:**

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Another day in terrible prison land passes by, and I'm still alive. I think time might actually be moving faster in here, somehow. Maybe it's your responses. I feel pathetic for admitting it, but they make me feel better. A LOT better._

_Not to mention the fact that no one has tried to kill me of late. It's a pleasant change, and I definitely appreciate not being locked up in the infirmary all hours of the day. I like hospitals. Always have. Just don't like hospital beds._

_It's storming like crazy outside. I don't know how bad it is there, but up here, the wind's easily at fifty miles an hour. The prison is running on backup generators, the whole place is about eighty percent dimmer. Makes this place even more creepy and unappealing._

_I hope the rain clears up soon. Really isn't doing any favors for my leg... most everyone's work got cancelled today. The lights in the library weren't deemed important enough to allocate power to, so I've just been sitting in my cell all day. It sucks._

_I'm going to try and catch a nap and sleep through the worst of the storm. Talk to you tomorrow, as always._

_Love, House_

* * *

**Author's Note: Listening to Cuddy's Serenade right now... Oh Oxygen marathons, how I love you. :) Review?**


End file.
